Wagering against Gods
by Applesodas
Summary: A knight washes up on Valentia's shores, dreaming of a kindhearted, gentle maiden with a quiet temperament and a fighting spirit. The woman that finds him is one of those things.
1. On the Shores

If the golden-haired man that lay sprawled out on the beach was a corpse, then he was one of the most exquisite-looking ones that Sonya had ever encountered. The mercenary's brow furrowed as she peered over the short, slight dunes of where the small port town met the open sea.

"My, my….what sort of trouble did you get up to on the high seas, I wonder?" She murmured. As she approached, his features began to resemble something of a statue that she had once seen in the manor of a lord she was sent to assassinate— a work of art carved from marble that resembled a warrior god from a foreign land. Awake, this man could probably whirl to life and wreak devastation with a lance or a sword in his hand.

But what he could do to his foes was of no concern, as the ocean had beaten him onto the shores and left him unconscious at Sonya's feet.

Several days spent in the port town had suggested that whatever his secrets were, the broad-shouldered man wasn't exactly the same as the pirates, bandits, and sellswords that usually lived their lives moving from ship to bar to brothel and then back to their ships. That was more or less the journey that she had planned out for her, albeit with less trips to brothels and more time spent in bars where the information flowed as freely as liquor.

Information was always what Sonya sought— more than money, warm bodies in her bed, or even the fine jewels and exotic cosmetics that she would pick up from traders. If there was a place she could get closer to finding what she needed, she was singleminded about it.

So why had the man on the shores caught her eye?

People were stranded at sea or draped unconscious — or worse— far more regualrly than she cared for across the sea lanes that straddled Rigel and Zofia. Food had run scarce in both realms, and so too did jobs.

She decided the reason that the man had earned her sympathy was that even though his eyes were shut, he possessed a sadness about him that she had known. He possessed a will to live in the manner in which he grasped at the ground where he lay flat on his back, as if anchoring himself there and daring the sea to try to take him back.

Work to get him to safety would not come easily, and her first task was to determine whether a cleric or an undertaker was needed. The brackish scent of the sea clung to him as she brushed slimy kelp plastered to his shoulders, grimacing all the while. Brushing aside a mass of soaking wet blonde hair, Sonya felt for his pulse points and paused.

A faint thrum jolted against the pads of her fingers, warm and sudden.

"Now we're getting somewhere." She grinned.

Sonya had ignored a great many lessons on healing when she took her mandatory lessons from the clerics. She had always guessed that should they have stayed, Marla and Hestia would have made fine priestesses gifted in the healing arts. But she herself was never quite so gifted at it, only knowing how to patch the most rudimentary of wounds with a staff. She had been resigned to her fate, albeit not without enthusiasm, to making sure others needed a healer if they crossed her path on the wrong day. Steading her palms, she pushed against his chest, hands folded as the priestesses did, and felt the give of his ribs.

Her fallen warrior-god stirred, his features convulsing as he coughed out mouthfuls of seawater. Nobody, thought Sonya with a small wry smile, looked handsome when they needed to expel water from their lungs. But it was unfair that as his eyes fluttered open and his chest heaved with newfound life how even weariness was becoming on him.

"I can't fall here—" he gasped out. His voice was deep and inflected with a nobleman's upbringing. So were his clothes, a tunic that was sodden but crafted of ebony wool shot through with patterns of gold.

"Good news," Sonya reached over and took ahold of his hand, helping him sit up steadily.

"You haven't fallen there." She smiled slightly as she did so.

The knight— she was almost certain that he was a knight, or she'd bet her last month's pay away—glanced at her with something that was half-ferocity, half-confusion. Then he wrenched his gaze away and looked out towards the town, then turned and glanced out to the ocean, and Sonya saw sorrow lace his features like an invisble arrow had pierced his side. Whatever it was that hurt him— physically, if not in spirit, had bested him. He recognized nothing about where he was, and had not a single inkling where things were to proceed.

That weariness and uncertainty was the first time she had felt a shred of empathy for anyone that wasn't Marla or Hestia, and it unnerved her. Surely there was a cure, through alcohol or a good job somewhere, that could take care of such afflictions. But fate or whatever gods or goddesses in existence had saddled Sonya with a knight-sized burden, and she decided then and there to try to see it through.

The woman that greeted him when he awoke shifted her mage's cloak to help him stand. He had little idea of where he was as she straightened his shoulders. Feeling crept back into his muscles as he met the gaze of the purple-haired woman.

Memory and recognition was fuzzy, but her eyes shone with a kindness that she likely didn't demonstrate often. It was a rare happenstance that she had crossed paths with him, half-drowning and covered in sand, and decided to check. This he knew instantly.

As they walked across the beach and towards a structure far off in the distance, the woman reached into a leather bag by her side and drew out something plain and light-colored, shaking its folds out. She swept what looked to be a robe over her shoulders and fastened the clasps over the nape of her neck, turning her low-cut dress into a modest cleric's garb in an instant.

"Are you…falsifying a cleric's costume?" He found himself saying, trying and failing to keep the incredulity out of his voice.

"Oh, like you're in a position to judge about this." A small smirk spread across her features. "Either find someone else to help, or follow me and get medicine and something to eat."

At the word 'medicine,' the ache in his limbs almost responded out of instinct. The mention of food brought a grumble to his stomach that what dignity echoes in his mind would have protested. But he lacked dignity in that moment, and he wasn't sure when the woman's moment of generosity would come to pass.

"I meant nothing by it, milady." The words left a taste in his mouth that didn't sit right. This woman clearly was no lady, but perhaps it was true that ladies in different countries carried themselves with sharp words and impersonated members of religious orders easily. Wherever he was, he was far from home and would likely stay that way.

"My gratitude is yours." That, he meant sincerely. Knighthood was not something that was so easily lost, and the muscle memory of horsemanship, lance fighting, and the honor that any paladin maintained was embedded in him as deep as the nerves in his bones and muscle. Feeling that certainty out, his steps steadied as they approached the walls of a temple.

"It's not a whole lie. I was raised and taught in a priory. Once. At some point." As she laughed and drew her face into something approximating pious and quiet, the ridiculousness of the sight lifted his spirits as well.

One thing was for certain for him— whatever had thrown this woman, a tall vision in violet hair and a hidden smile— nothing and no one that he happened across was happenstance.


	2. Potential Unsealed

Sonya had attended services at temples affiliated with Duma for as long as she could recall. It had been a long time ago since her father had dropped her and her sisters off at the prioriy, where prayers were held on the dot three times a day. She slipped into a habit on as few occasions as she could— only during times when she needed something from the clerics— partly because the cost of shelter or healing was time spent inside the chapel and its rituals. No disguises were needed and no questions were asked at inns, and she preferred that way. But she would not trust an inn to check on the condition of the still-unnamed man.

"Where am I?" He had asked, as they walked to the church earler.

"The Kingdom of Rigel," was Sonya's reply. "And you'll learn what we're like very quickly." She had to do so to survive, and assumed that the same would be true for anyone, no matter how suddenly they had arrived on the whims of fate.

As she clasped her hands and joined the temple clergy in wishing King Rudolf long life and continuous victories against Zofia, her thoughts strayed to the man on the seashore. She had left him in the care of the healers, who had hurried him off to somewhere else within the temple grounds to recover. If he was a knight, and again, she was certain that he was, he was one that didn't look like he served any lord that she knew of. Mercenaries were keenly aware of the landed, overstuffed nobles that paraded across the continent like they owned everything and anyone. They would snap sellswords in two and have the backing of their fellow peers to get off scot-free. She had seen what people like him had done.

In gossip surrounding developments in Zofia, there were rumors and murmurings that a lady knight was terrifying bandits and serving at a high officer in some sort of Resistance, or Rising, or something similarly sunnily named. Good for her, smirked Sonya. Someone needed to shut the men up when it came to the conquests of the battlefield.

A serious-faced woman next to her narrowed her eyes as she caught Sonya's smile, her gaze flicking to the central altar where a priest stood over a holy book, reciting a passage. The suggestion to her was to pay attention, or else. Masking her face with whatever sobriety she had left to giv to the church of Duma, Sonya bowed her head and waited until the opportunity arose to slip back towards the medical wings.

The long hours spent trying to clean meaning from priests' admonishments, hopes, and fears had given he little to believe. But she knew that in times where everything outside the walls seemed uncertain that epople needed something comforting. As Sonya passed a group of young initiates, she thought to hours that she and Marla and Hestia had stolen away to play in the alcoves or sneak glances at the spellbooks that the temple kept for their initiates that trained in the magical arts. Those that took advanced orders learned holy magic to keep monsters at bay.

She may have left the temple, but its rituals and what her place in them lingered still.

"Well, how is he doing?" She asked, unconcerned if it sounded like she was ordering the man about. The middle-aged cleric that stood before her looked precisely the type that could be pushed about, if not by her then by priests that outranked him in the church. He was a gangly man with thinning hair who loomed over his patient's cot, all sticks and bones under the square, standard-issue priest's habit. Besides him was the injured knight, who was alert and retrieved a bowl of soup from another cleric.

"Er— well, I've found that really, it's nothing that food and water and a little pain relief poultice mixed from herbs couldn't fixed. It's actually quite remarkable. Really, most of it's just exhaustion."

"Mm," Sonya nodded.. "Did he mention a name?" She lowered her voice, glancing at the man and back. If he was inclined to be honest with anyone, it was more liely that it would be a man of the cloth and not to her.

"I was getting to it—" the cleric responded crossly, jabbing a finger at her as if hurrying him along was an insult of the highest degree. "That," he said, "is the chief problem." He scribbled something quickly and messily into the npad of paper at his side and stuffed it into the robes of his habit.

"This man doesn't remember anything." He concluded. "Not his name, not where he's come to Rigel from. And getting those recollections back may take days—weeks, months—I don't know." The cleric flapped his hands in frustration. "It's never consistent with these conditions, you understand."

Despite the ten thousand times she had been told that it was heresy to speak vulgarly in a temple of Duma, Sonya swore under her breath. Perfect, she thought. Three hours in prayer, and this was the best that they could do.

"But you're sure that he's unhurt otherwise," she snapped perhaps less politely than she would have said under ideal circumstances.

"This is a soldier, Sister. And a sturdier one, at that. It'll take more than being adrift at sea to break someone like that, aside from some cuts and bruises." Whirling around so that the crisp hems of his healer's habit snapped to attention, the cleric waved to his initiates and assistants, and was off to the next sickbed. By the time she turned to try to get some answers out of the man himself, he had already curled up in the cot and fallen back asleep.

It was night when he came to again, feeling the softness of a knit blanket pool across his torso as he sat up in the bed. He had been led indoors by the violet-haired woman, and fussed over by clerics that checked him and gotten him into a cot. As he awoke, he blinked awake, taking into account the quiet surroundings, save for the quiet hum of a hymn of someone— likely another cleric, working a late shift in the clinic.

Her face, set in an irate expression, was the first thing that he saw as she darted into the room. The habit disguise was still wrapped around her. It was an ill-fitting garb that would have suited a shorter woman than her, and more ridiculous still was that her high-heeled boots still clicked across the church's stone tiling.

She was watching him, too her appraising eyes running over him like a hunting bird studying his prey. For the briefest of moments, he saw her lips part and a slow, almost audible draw of breath. It was unmistakeable, and in the hazy corner of his memory he had sworn he recalled many similar reactions among women. But he was especially pleased that he had earned that sort of esteem from her.

"What do you suppose you're looking at?"It was something he wandered with some amusement, knowing full well that there would be hell to pay if his attention wandered too much towards the tight-fitting leather armor and skirts he had glimpsed briefly beneath her disguise.

"Don't flatter yourself," the woman snorted, although he could see a bit of color bloom in her face at the implications of the remarks. "I was checking your clothing for an insignia. A house emblem or a royal seal. That's how most of Rigel's good little military lapdogs brand themselves, anyways."

"Find the insignia, and we find out about you." She ticked off the two points on long, elegant fingers, then looked at him as if to ask if she had used enough simple words to explain her idea.

He narrowed his eyes as he glanced at the sleeves of his black-and-gold coat, which the temple's clerics had tried their best to clean. The brackish water had ruined and warped the fine threads, and tears riddled the cloth, but there was a badge of some sort— gold, with a horse as dark as night stamping across the surface of the silk.

"Any clues that jog your memory?" She asked, examining the sleeve. He stared at it for a moment, brow furrowed, before shaking his head.

"Well, no use crying over the sea tossing you around like a bale of hay." With a resigned sigh, she clapped a hand over his shoulder. "So." Her voice was short and clipped. "As you do not appear to be dying, should we depart the temple? That priest already looked suspicious of you."

Sonya wasn't a short woman by any means, and despised being made to feel diminutive by anyone— man, woman, or monster. But at full height, she resented a little how the nameless knight towered over her. Ssetting aside her opinions on the rest of his appearance, she set off towards the ground floor of the temple, looking back occasionally to see if the mysterious knight still followed her. He did, in a gait that was far more at ease than his awkward, half-delirious walk towards the temple the day prior. Lfiting a torch off a sconce in the wall, she reached for the handle of a heavy wooden door.

"No one uses them, normally. But Every temple has an exit in case the main exits are attacked." She had taken the liberty of knowing the layout of holy houses across Rigel by heart. "Besides," she added. "Monsters are said to lurk these halls."

He took a torch of his own and followed her through the doors as they swung open with a rusted heaving sound. "Will the clergy be unprepared to fend off monsters if they venture out through the tunnels?"

"Oh, no," Sonya answered, feeling the beginnings of a wicked grin spread across her face. "You see, Duma is a god of warriors. If you cannot fight off your foes," she continued, "you do not deserve his mercy in the first place."

She looked back at him out of curiosity, but had an idea of what his reaction might be like. A grim acknowledgment of the faith passed across his face, but the man did not so much as flinch at the sight of the caverns.

As the temple grew further and further away, only the two torches illuminated the way as the tiles slowly gave away to the natural stone formations that were carved decades, perhaps centuries ago, by the makers of wind and water. Occasional lamps of carved stone flickered with flames as they walked past, but the tunnel, for the most part, lead them through unlit paths strewn with rubble and half-abandoned storage crates.

The unearthly hiss of something beyond the corridor drew their attention as two glowing eyes shone out through the darkness. Her heart skipped a beat it it, despite the fact that she knew what lurked in the darkness on their way out. The map that she had stolen from the temple library would guide them out, but it guaranteed nothing on what lived and lurked in the temple catacombs. Sure enough, the eyes were set in a skull that had been animated by some nefarious magic that she hadn't dared try herself. Out of the darkness the two skeletons crawled, wielding steel blades in battered sheaths of leather and cloth that must have been from another century.

"You carried no weapons out of the temple." His voice was calm and cool, which meant that unlike the vast majority of dolts that saw her on a regular basis, the knight didn't underestimate her. That was a wise choice on his part. The man, as far as she knew, remained unarmed.

"As I said, if you cannot fight off foes, you are not given mercy" snarled Sonya, drawing a slim tome from her bag and watching the carefully-lettered pages of the spellbook illuminate to life. "Now stand back." She threw her torch up in an arc and pointed her hand at it.

The fire spell sprang to life as it always did, the flames rolling off her fingertips, catching the lit tip of the torch as a fireball crashed towards the advancing pair of Bonewalkers. Their gaunt ribs caught afire instantly as they staggered back, almost by memory of the humans that they had been in the past. Another spell made quick work of the first Bonewalker.

"How fun," she purred, reaching for the blade left out on an outcropping."He's left a souvenir for you." Inspecting the sword for a moment, she pressed it into his hand and faced down the second monster, another spell at the ready.

Sonya never had time to finish it off herself as the flash of steel glinted brightly off the torch. His eyes sparked to life like nothing that Sonya had ever seen as he drew the blade and leapt at the second Bonewalker, slashing at it with the ferocity that surpassed the most ruthless sellsword. The sword cracked across its ribs with a sickening crunch as the Bonewalker emitted a deafening shriek. In one powerful motion, he drew his sword arm back and sent the weapon through the center of the skull.

Whatever glowing necromancer's spell had powered the Bonewalker to life fizzled out of it almost instantly as the skull cracked and split in two, its halves clattering onto the cave floor. Following suit was the rest of the monster's body, leaving only rags, a worn lance, and a few scraps of armor. He picked up the lance, strapped it to his back, and faced her with eyes blazing with energy, as if he had come alive in the few moments of battle.

Healers in either the Duma or Mila faith rarely exaggerated when it came to describing their patients. True to both her assumptions and the words of the cleric, the man had turned out to be a soldier, and a sturdy one at that. It was almost funny how easily and elegantly he had made an action as piercing the skull of a demon appear to be.

"Have you ever considered work as a mercenary? You've a knack for it." Grinning, she snapped her fingers as a small glowing fire lit the way before them. It was a gross understatement, but she never gave compliments very freely to men. No— as with all things, her favor had to be earned.

"Is that the uniform for mercenaries?" Even in the dark, she could watch him gesture to her armor, skirt, and boots. "I'm afraid it's not quite the right color on me."

She hadn't been aware that he was a jester in addition to a knight. Tossing her hair with a short bark of laughter, she lit the torch and continued to find a way out so that they could figure out their next steps. Or rather, she alone would figure out her next steps. As much as he could sever his foes apart without even breaking into a sweat, he had nothing to do with her journey. And she would make sure things stayed that way.


	3. The Way of Fallen Warriors

The catacombs of the temple stretched on— for how long, he couldn't quite place in time or distance. What mattered the most was that whatever had swept him out to sea, it had not taken the strength in his muscles and bone nor the instincts of his sword arm. As much as pieces of his memory were missing, he was glad to know that the instincts of what made a proper knight charge into battle were there, whole and intact and as polished to perfection as ever. This was something that felt right in a land where nothing quite made sense.

He was certain that the woman that had taken it upon herself to help was unlike anyone he had ever seen, and that even those in the kingdom of Rigel who had not lost their memories would reasily agree. She was one of the bolts of fire that any mage could cast with a flick of her wrists that had taken human form, quick to anger but equally quick to figure out what to do next.

Sonya was the name she had told him, a name of two quick syllables that had characterized a woman that was constantly in motion. She hurried ahead of him now, the ball of witchfire in her hands and the light of the torch she carried illuminating the way readily.

A clearing in the caves had opened up, revealing a section that had been carved out of the stone. Before them lay a path of tiles that had been set out, almost innocuously, as if the clerics of the temple had wanted the section to look tidier.

"Where do you suppose this leads?" He asked, pointing towards the tiled sections of the tunnels.

Sonya peered towards it, suddenly startled as she read something along the side walls. "Tombs, most likely— the temple carries out rites and burials of their own, and those that serve the king." For good measure, she added, She whirled around to face him, the light of the fire illuminating a mischievous smile. "What, are you in the mood to grave-rob some poor dead bastard?"

He shook his head, answering her grin with a wry smile of his own. "I would rather not begin my life in this land as one of a thief." Having nothing to do, he drew the sword at his side and hacked at a curtain of overgrown moss and vines that had blanketed the way deeper into the hallway. "I wanted to go look for a name to take."

"You intend to join a band of knights, then?" Sidestepping past where he had cleared the log, she guided the fire to a pile of dried branches and rubble that blocked a path. Raising her hand to pause their procession through the tunnels, Sonya set the rotting wood ablaze, scattering the shrunken remains of a tree trunk into fine flakes of ash in a matter of minutes.

The world was new to him, and he was glad to have her there to guide him forward, even if it was for a little while.

"That is the only thing that seems fitting to do. I have nothing else. Perhaps if I can hold fast to what I do remember, the rest of it may come back." Of all the things he had been unsure of, he held fast to the few things that he knew to be true. His heart sped up with certainty when ever he caught a glimpse of the black horse on the worn sleeve of his coat. Some day, he would catch up to what it truly meant. Even if today wasn't the day, there was time and an opportunity to build something new within Rigel.

A quiet but consistent sense of curiosity fell over him as he smoothed a hand over the abandoned-looking lid of a coffin, drawing a line of dust and a few scattered leaves through the nearly empty room. A few lines of text had been carved into the side of the heavy stone, accompanying the names of the souls at rest within the tombs.

"Hmmm," Sonya read from an inscription. "Sir Galahad's, a legendary axe-wielding knight, had an end was lost to the ages, supposedly cut down in his prime after he had challenged a swordsman to a fight over a talisaman that was said to cause madness. I don't know if I would pick that one. Looks like bad luck."

"Sir Andrew, an elderly knight and oldest aid of an indecisive princess, was secretly working to plot her death and brought down by her army the night before he planned to kill her." She shook her head, moving on from the tomb that, disturbingly enough, looked as if someone had tried to shift the lid of. "Well, he made it further in life than the first one. I suppose there's something to be said about that."

She hurried along to the next coffin, a spark of inspiration that was almost childlike adding a spring to her step. "Oh, this might be a good name for you." A small conjured breeze cleared more dust and leaves from the surface of the burial plot of another knight. "Golden-haired Sir Ezekiel," she gestured to his head, nodding. "Known throughout the land as a brilliant scion and knight commander and wielder of a sword that could…eurgh, drink blood….found himself torn between the loyalties to a brother-in-arms and his house, was executed for choosing wrongly."

At the sound of the words, his blood chilled, and the weight of his steps felt heavier as he approached the tomb. "He died in a manner unbefitting a knight. Let me take his name, however." As if fulfilling a religious vow, he lay one large palm flat on the surface of the coffin. "I feel a kinship to his tale and his name. I like 'Zeke', perhaps, so that the comparison is not so easily made."

"Well, of course he ended up dying, this is a tomb." She laughed again, and he found the sound low, soothing, and something that he wanted to hear again and again. "But it's funny, how you can be loyal to something for so long and end up getting nothing." There was a bitterness to her words as she met his gaze, wondering if he felt the same.

"There is no guarantee what a king will ask you to do. One can only try to apply his best judgment," Zeke found himself arguing. "But I think it is better to tie yourself to a place or a person than to wander forever." Pausing at the inscription once more after reading it in silence, he nodded, affirming his decision and using the moment to reflect on those that had been laid to rest many decades ago. "I do not think I could live without having something to fight for. Do you?"

It was an act of mercy, oddly enough, that more Bonewalkers and a Gargoyle had emerged from somewhere deeper in the tunnels, hoping to trap them in the knight's tomb. She hadn't planned on asking the demons to keep her from answering the question, but whatever kept her casting fire and thunder and not talking to him was for the best.

The words caught in Sonya's throat as she and Zeke departed the tombs after having leaving the monsters in pieces of bone and burnt flesh. She breathed a sigh of relief as she swept past him out of the tombs, their path cleared by her spells and his blade mere moments earlier. She had a ready response to the noble conditions he had described, of course. But the truth was that despite the fact that the mysterious knight was the most self-righteous bore she had ever met, in some respects, she agreed with him. She had something to fight for, even if she would rather be set aflame or thrown from a tower than admit it.

Both things were actions that the people she fought for would readily take, of course. That was the problem. But there were the sorts of secrets that could earn a man a role as a tragic knight, and there were women who were disgraced as their sisters fell into the cult of a madman, their brains wracked and warped by spellwork until they were no longer recognizeable.

The weight of such reasons to fight were something that Sonya never wanted anyone to know. Yet, with him, the words were at her lips. And it unnerved her, as she was accustomed to saying little and respecting knights on even fewer occasions.

Sonya turned back for the briefest of moments, to meet Zeke's gaze, and found it, warm and steady and far too certain that she would answer, as they advanced towards the exit of the tunnels. It still seemed as if he was curious about her answer. That was the problem, she decided. How one moment, he could look like the most ferocious man that ever picked up a sword, and the next, possess a tenacity in using kind words to pry secrets from the most stubborn of holdouts.

"I don't want to talk about what I'm fighting for." Was her answer. Nothing in the world, save an act of either of the two gods that the continent recognized, would get her to spill that particular set of secrets.

If he weren't so set on knighthood and likely have earned it somewhere else, she was sure that he would've made a fine interrogator for any mercenary's chain of command.

Something that Sonya couldn't quite place seized her as the dark tunnels led out into the late summer afternoon of a grassy plain. Overhead, the skies were clear and bright and the open road lay out before them, and the realization dawned on her that that she had spent close to three days with him— an unjustifiable period of time without someone handing over a sizeable reward.

"I owe you a boon for this," he explained, shouldering the lance and securing the sword at his belt. With weapons in hand and standing at full height, Zeke looked every part ready to simply walk into an order of the king's troops and start learning the layout of whatever chores it was that they had to handle.

"Should we cross paths again, I will come to your aid without fail. This I mean sincerely, Sonya."

"How honorable," she smiled, slowly but sincerely, facing the opposite side of the road where he was headed. She had an engagement somewhere in a town away, hopefully was a full glass of wine, from the questions and the man that asked them so intently that she felt compelled to answer. "Well, Zeke, it's not every day that a girl gets to pick out a name out of a mass grave, but I'm very happy I was able to do that for you." With a wave that she hoped would feel casual so far, she watched him go, knowing that fate likely worked strangely enough that they would meet again. Or they wouldn't. It was fickle like that at times.

"I'm getting sentimental," Sonya muttered, shaking her head and stretching her hands over her head. Knowing well that he had finally left, she was relieved that the air was fresh and she was free from a certain knight's pestering questions for a good long while. "Just my luck that it would happen now."

"Two commanders of Grieth guard the desert chokepoints to his stronghold," explained the barkeep, moving two saltshakers in front of Celica as she watched the makeshift map on the table carefully. "You're going to need every bit of muscle that you can to make it past them. One is said to be a swordsman named Deen. The other, a sorceress named Sonya." He poitned to the saltshakers.

"I couldn't help but overhear that your army is in need of help against a brigand." " A man hunched over the table looked over at them. Celica met the gaze of a cavalier— a seasoned one, most likely, finishing off the remains of a sizeable meal. He was a knight built for taking to the battlefield atop a warhorse, and someone whose caliber that not even the desert sands could slow.

"Yes," answered Celica. "There's a girl trapped within his citadel, and I've agreed to rescue her. He takes hostages, and that can't be allowed to happen." She found her voice that she slipped into, still feeling out the role of Princess Anthiese, that name that was so foreign and far away, now stuck to her— and permanently, it seemed.

"I will join your journey, milady, on one condition." The golden-haired knight continued. At that moment, Celica saw two figures from her army enter, each bearing supplies that they would need no matter how they proceeded towards the pirate king. At the sight of him, both Palla and Catria froze. The usually calm pegasus knight scattered the sack of oranges in her hands as they fell to the floor, her expression startled and unreadable.

She was certain that she stumbled across another story entirely. But as of now, they had no choice. Either they would find a way past the pirates, or her kingdom, already in danger, would risk being conquered by Rigel in a haze of blood.

"Then it's agreed." Whatever she had just allowed, she likely owed the Whitewing sisters an explanation. Or vice versa. But time was short, and the time to move was limited.


	4. Debts Claimed

Despite the fact that she was certain she had worked for the worst bunch of thieves, brigands, incompetent nobles, and pirates that Rigel had to offer, Sonya was the least sorry to see Grieth go. Word had gotten out through the citadel that a small band of mercenaries and mages— guarding a priestess, of all people— had broken through one of the desert chokepoints guarded by Deen, a swordsman that served as Grieth's other senior lieutenant.

In the days that had passed since, the self-appointed bandit king himself had flown into a panic, and one that she observed ruefully while nursing a good glass of wine in an alcove with several other bemused lieutenants that were on the outs with him, as well.

"I'm pretty sure that if you gave me a week, several tomes, and a few lapsed Duma Faithful, I'd have taken over half the territory it took him all this time to take. Don't attribute this to me. But I'm sure I could do it, because he's honestly—"

Despite the fact that her words were slurring from the wine, Sonya was wise enough to recognize when the man that still paid them coins walked into the room. She set down her glass and leaned just enough against the back of the seat to feign being put together just the right amount.

"Listen up!" barked the brigand. "I have received word that the priestess and her loathsome sellswords approach the Citadel. We will defend this tower, or fall together. Now, commanders— I have your orders here."

Sonya had heard what she needed to hear, and knew what it was that she was meant to do, given the state of where things were heading. She raised her hand with a casual wave. "I have a suggestion for a posting, if you're looking to protect the valuables of the stronghold…"

"So, how long did you say you were taken prisoner for, dear?"

"I don't know, honestly….I'm kind of scared at the beginning, but I think it'll be okay, right?" The pink-haired teenager leaned over the wooden crate that had served as a seat for her. Beside her was a tall, snow-colored pegasus that was tied to the walls in a hay-lined section of the dungeon. Pegasi were finicky creatures by nature, and, though rare and sellable for a price, tended to throw tantrums and escape easily if kept too far from their bonded riders. This was something she learned by direct experience specifically out of a botched order that Grieth had issued when the horse had simply bolted and flown off.

Sonya decided that since she had the good fortune for drawing the lot of not fighting the priestess Grieth was likely to die to, she would take another opportunity to speak kindly. "Well, if he hasn't killed you by now, it's probably not in the cards."

"Right!" beamed Est, eagerly biting into the apple that Sonya had slipped her. "Kidnapping has a consistent logic to it. I've been taken prisoner a few times already. At this point, it's almost like an adventure!" Her voice wavered slightly as both women looked up, hearing loud bangs and the clash of battle above.

Sonya disagreed. Vehemently. In the unlikely event she was ever taken prisoner, she would look for the nearest sharp instrument and hack her tongue out before considering it an adventure. But it was in poor taste, she thought, to salt the wounds of someone that was already in prison and looked to have the general emotional strength that came with being a scrap of a pegasus knight that looked barely out of her first flying lessons.

They stayed that way for the next few hours uneventfully, Sonya paging nonchalontly through a book of Rigelian manor architecture and Est staring up at the continued rattling sounds of weapons and spellwork.

"How do you get anything done with…um…" The girl's voice trailed off.

"Oh, this is always how things are for mercenaries. I'd be out there, too, if I hadn't volunteered to guard Grieth's valuables." Sonya explained, not mentioning that she had combed it over for things to hawk before she had truly settled in for guard duty. Despite the many personnel issues that had plagued the man, he knew how to appraise the small cache of fine jewelery that was now safely in her possession.

A loud crack that shook the foundations of the citadel, causing tiles to fall to the floor of the dungeon and the floors to shake. It was either an extremely powerful spell or the a devastating blow from a weapon.

"I should probably check in on that." Sonya's eyes narrowed as she scooped up the nearest spellbook she could get her hands on. "Are you going to be fine here?"

"I've been fine here," Est replied, kicking at a bit of rubble and reminding her once again of the knight's young age. "Um, but if you see two other pegasus knights, Miss Sonya— blue-or-green-looking ones, could you let me know?" Her face brightened. "They're my sisters." She added.

Sonya was about to quip back with a remark about retrieving Est a second pony while she was at it. But the girl's comment about sisters had stilled that ramark, and any others like it. Meeting the girl's gaze, she nodded. "I'll tell them where to find you for sure." The earnestness that strangers were drawing out of her was having her form habits she hadn't had since the priory.

The sight at the top of the stairway out of the dungeon revealed a series of corridors in chaos, still rife with the sounds of battle. What she could see was left of Grieth's citadel was in ruins, and as Sonya reached the entrance hall to the castle, which was swarming a small band of soldiers, she recognized a face among those who were laying waste to the bandit king's hold.

A year or two had passed since they had last crossed paths, and somewhere along the way Zeke had acquired repairs to his jacket of black and gold, a lance of fine Rigelian steel, and a battle steed upon which he was charging at her former, soon-to-be-in-the-grave compatriots. As he cut down pirates that she mercifully was glad she didn't know all that well, Sonya felt glad that she had stuck to her guns of never making friends with those that she took jobs with. Children— like little Est— she could feign politeness with for a while, but save her and Zeke, she had proudly never let anyone else get so close.

She had almost convinced herself that the three days spent by his side were something of an illusion. Naturally, the man himself was there to break that particular spell.

Zeke whirled around to face her as an enemy soldier crumpled to the floor, his horse stamping its feet to punctuate its foe's end. From his determined gaze to the confident, shining sweep of the lance, he now looked every part like a warrior god-like statue that she had idly compared him to on the seashore years ago. There was a terrifying beauty about Zeke when he fought, and it especially rang true when he was cutting down his foes atop a warhorse. His was a captivating presence even if she knew she was a paper-thin distance and a smart-thinking spell from bleeding out on the tiles.

"This may be an opportune time to use my favor," she managed, silently thanking hours of meditation that she found boring at the time for allowing her to build a sense of composure. "I suppose you're here fighting with that priestess?"

"Crown Princess Anthiese of Zofia," Zeke corrected. "She had been looking to liberate the citadel from Grieth." Though she had seen his expression falter initially, it settled as quickly as molten steel into a forge's mold, sharp and unrelenting. He had spared her in that instant, but would reserve his judgment on where they stood in the long run. It was just as well that he did. She couldn't tolerate sentimental fools.

"I have no orders to kill. And from what I garner, Grieth isn't in a position to keep buying my loyalty." In one swift and smooth motion, she flipped her long violet tresses back, a move that was half meant to unnerve others and half to instill confidence within herself. "Do you suppose that Princess Anthiese is the new master of Grieth's Pirates?"

"No," a voice answered behind him.

The girl wasn't what Sonya had expected at all, bearing no resemblance to the gaunt and wine-soaked wretch that the king of Zofia had rumored to have been in his last days. Dressed in the garb of a priestess that wielded spell and blade alike, she emerged from behind Zeke, drawing herself up using the sheath of a sword of gold and steel for balance. Her arm had been cut by an axe-head, and her breath slightly ragged.

"This citadel will serve no pirate-master any longer. My purpose here…was to free the prisoners he took."

"Right, Prisoners." Sonya cleared her throat. "If you have two sisters among you searching for a third—" She looked away, still unused to giving information freely. "Grieth had her locked in the cellar. She told me to pass this...insight on." With a small grimace but glad that she had a hand in reuniting three sisters, she looked back up. A sincere, relieved smile broke out onto the girl's face that took away from the regal demeanor that her ornate diadem— which sat slightly askew over her bright red hair— was meant to convey.

"Let's fetch them and lead them to her!" Still wincing as she clutched her injured arm, she set off elsewhere into the castle. "Please find me Catria and Palla at once," she called to a boy with a shock of white hair and a pink-haired girl in pigtails— both magical users as well, if Sonya's intuitions were correct.

"What's happening at once is that Genny is going to look at your arm," the pigtailed girl's voice came out something of a snarl. "Celica, what are we going to do if you get injured?!"

In silence, Sonya watched them fuss over the leader of their odd little band, who laughed and appeared much younger than the authoritarive air she had taken when discussing what would become of the stronghold. Which had left her, alone again with him.

It was silly, how she had fussed. At the end of the day, there were ways keep her secrets to herself, if the way that he insisted on honor and knightly pride were indeed true down to the last word. And Sonya was, if nothing else, made to know precisely how people fought both on and off the battlefield.

"Were you searching for a princess to serve?" Sonya asked. He seemed happier in the time that had passed— more certain and sure of himself. She wondered if his memories had come back. Perhaps knights gravitated to noble causes like that. In another life, he might have sought out the king himself to ask for a post.

Celica would be a fine queen of the kingdom she sought to rule one day. That much Zeke could tell. But on his mind was a different woman— one who fascinated him with the little regard that she had for proproiety, but fought with a moral core as strong as anyone's. He was certain of it, no matter how much she protested about how mercenaries conducted themsleves.

"No," Zeke's anwer was simple as he dismounted from the horse and handed off his lance. "I was hoping to find you once more."

He had meant for the words to unnerve her, but something in her usually alert gaze softened into something unknowable. The years that had passed fell away, and Zeke wanted more than anything than to have spent it learning about the land with her. But it did no good unecessarily project. The choice was hers.

"It's nice to see you again." It had happened in the blink of an eye, how she pulled him closer and touched her lips to his cheek, the slight kiss brushing across him like the first sparks of a fire. As Zeke watched Sonya walk away with the satisfaction of a lioness. "I guess the gods have a strange sense of humor at work after all, don't they?"


	5. After the Skirmish

Sonya knew that her day wasn't going to be a dull one when the three sisters, each wtih a different shock of brightly-colored hair, turned to look at her as she retrieved her breakfast and took a seat in the makeshift mess hall.

"Sonya!" Est called out, her voice at an illegally bright octave given how early it was. "Sonya, it's so wonderful to see you again! Sit with us!"

With a narrow-eyed glare, the mage pushed her jeweled headband up before anyone that mattered to her saw that it had fallen askew.

She noticed the eldest knight, a responsible-looking green-haired girl named Palla, was eyeing her, opening her mouth, and then closing it. She would then look away, think something over, and repeat the motions again. She then turned to the other two and whispered something all while continuing to shoot her furtive looks.

"Hey." Since none of the three women—girls, really, had the spine to raise the point, she tapped her spoon against the table. "If you've got something to say to me, say it now."

"Okay. That knight— Zeke…" Palla said. Est shot her a confused look before nodding along. It was almost endearing if Sonya wasn't sure that someone was going to say something patronizing to her. "We know him from before he arrived in Rigel. He was a knight commander for a kingdom called Grust, and they were incredibly dangerous to the princess we served." Catria protested, adding onto her elder sister's statement.."He's no good."

"Oh, I know, sweetie. Most men are no good." Sonya stirred milk into her tea. "That's not new information to me."

Palla sighed, shaking her head at her younger sister. "What she means to say is," and Sonya noticed that Catria's eyes flickered with slight resentment, "He's imprisoned our youngest sister and taken the side of a cruel king back where we come from. I don't think he recognizes any of us here, but I can't help but need to be careful." From the way she was shredding up her bread with her knife and fork, it was clear that Palla was a fretter. She reminded Sonya of a certain fretter that was very far away from the crowded mess tent full of clerics and sellswords.

"You think he's going to kidnap me? What would he do, take me to the king here and waste his time over a common little mage?" Sonya scoffed. "Please." Underneath the dismissals, she listened eagerly. If the three sisters had information on him, she wanted to hear it all—good and bad.

"Well, I don't want to defend him, but….She's right." Est piped up. "I don't know. I feel like something's changed a little when he's around Sonya."

"Est!" hissed Catria. "Not everything has to be about your fantasies about….about destiny and romance all the time. Do you remember everything he did?! To You?!"

The pink-haired girl clicked her tongue dismissively at her older sister. "Of course I do, Catria. But people can change, and I think that he seems nicer around you, Sonya. I'm very good at reading people, _Catria_." The last word came out a little more menacing than Sonya thought a teenage girl was capable of.

Something about the innocent and ever-optimistic impression she got from the youngest pegasus knight was wearing Sonya's patience thin. And yet, she was certain that at some point, she had been in the girl's shoes.

"You know what?" She finished the hardboiled egg in two bites, eating as quickly and efficiently as she liked to work, and set down the spoon with a decisive _clack_. "Has he given you any indication of who he spies for? Is he likely to turn against Celica?"

It wasn't an impossible outcome, of course. Just about anything and everything had been happening since the knight had appeared in her life. If there were indeed suspicions about him, she wanted to know sooner rather than later.

The three young women looked amongst themselves, their expressions puzzled. Even Palla, who appeared to be the most clear-headed of the three, shook her head. Catria glanced off to the side. She didn't look the part of the most stubborn of the three, but Sonya knew better.

Est, true to her innocent nature, left last, but not without running up to her with shining eyes. "Good luck, Sonya," she said, as if the two of them shared a secret in the four-hour timespan where Sonya made small talk to calm her in Grieth's citadel. "I'm cheering for you. I think that you can bring out the best in him."

It was a ludicrous show of loyalty to a cause of which she appeared to be the sole crusader of optimism amongst them. But then again, those sorts of people tended to have the strongest will of all. Sonya shared that value with the girl, at least when it came to things that truly mattered. With a wariness that something was about to test loyalties, she picked up her plate and walked off into the morning uneasily.

There was little choice on the part of their teenaged commander just who could come along for their journey towards the temple of Mila. Unfortunately, many paths towards forts where information could be obtained ran through graveyars, where the dead appeared to spring from the ground like weeds or flowers.

"Isn't it alarming to square the circle around the idea of a merciful goddess if she allows these wretched things to exist?" Sonya snarled. She sent a volley of fire square into the base of a Bonewalker, knocking it off balance as it toppled back into the grave from which it had crawled.

"The Mother professes an intent to heal, but we must work to reach those that she cannot." Genny, a young priestess in the service of Mila, answered. She walked behind Sonya with a calmness that was beyond her years, and was always full of questions for her. The army was full of people like that, from her to Est to Zeke, who insisted on trying to figure her out.

Sonya found that characteristic more or less inexcusable, past a certain point. She had come the closest to letting her guard down around the knight, and vowed in the aftermath to keep moving through her days fast enough so that he wouldn't get the chance again.

A flurry of wings filled the graveyard as Sonya pointed towards a robed figure stalking towards a mausoleum. "Genny, we had better get going. That's where Celica was scouting." The shapes of four gargoyles filled the grove of gnarled trees that surrounded the marble building. As Sonya and Genny crossed the path through the graves, they found the young priestess using spell and sword to fend off the monsters. Zeke was at her side, plowing through monsters that still sprang from the surrounding tombs, hungering to do nothing but bring the still-living into the graves with them.

As the curly-haired young woman set about healing Celica's wounds, Sonya heard something off to the side, rustling through the entrance of the mausoleum. Figuring that finishing off the cantor that had troubled them for half a day with slew after slew of monsters would do the job, she followed him in.

Two torches that illuminated the small chapel inside framed the form of the cultist, who had been waiting for her.

" _CHILD OF JEDAH_ ," boomed the cantor. His form was as wizened and bent over as any other sorcerer with the ability to call forth monsters. But under the rusted cap of a priests's crown, the man's eyes were hollow and glowing bright blue from a magic spell that Sonya couldn't quite place. " _OUR LORD DUMA HUNGERS FOR BRIGHT SPARKS OF MAGIC._ _WILL YOU HEED MY MASTER'S CALL AND FOLLOW YOUR SISTERS_?"

" _SONYA_ ," the cantor said. His voice was rotting and ragged from disuse, but still clear as day. No Duma Faithful cleric so sunken into magic had ever shown the degree of clarity that he had. And that was a sign of danger. " _THERE IS PROMISE IN YOU, SHOULD YOU CHOOSE TO UNLOCK IT_. "

Her eyes narrowed at the mention but she was compelled to step closer. Her hands crackled with the sparks that would bring forth a thunder spell.

"What do you know?" She had seen his like before. Usually the pale-skinned wizards, shells of themselves and incapable of causes other than serving their fellow Duma Faithful, had no capacity for thought other than to sling spells or call forth monsters to fight at their command. This one unnerved her with an uncertainty that crawled past her skin and sunk into her blood and bones. "Wouldn't you like it if I gave over my mind to be just like them?"

"Unfortunately," she continued. "That's not going to be the case today." She took a step tomorrow. "Or tomorrow." Another. "Or any other day of your miserable, short life."

The blade under her cloak flashed, and in an instant the purple-haired priestess lunged. But at that moment, the tomb slid open and Zeke appeared in the doorframe. Her sword struck only air as the cantor vanished in a gleam of blue light. As he disappeared, she heard the remnants of laughter— a cruel, rustling sound like wind blowing through a copse of dead trees.

Her breath came out in harsh and unsteady puffs in the cold air of the tomb. All the while, her heart gave a traitorous jolt that seemed to emerge with more irritatingly involuntary frequency whenever she heard the sound of hoofbeats. Worst of all was the sight of Zeke's gaze at a moment when everything appeared to be falling apart.

"Don't look at me like that." she snapped.

"Like what? Is something the matter?"

"Of course not. I'm unhurt. You're…incapable of getting hurt. We're having a conversation in a tomb again. What could possibly have gone wrong?" Sonya leveled her spellbook on her shoulder, looking straight ahead past him towards the exit of the small chapel. If there was anything she considered herself an expert in other than magic and assessing valuables to pocket, it was ending unnecessary conversations.

"Something troubles you." Zeke's words were clumsy, as if he wasn't particularly used to trying to comfort someone. If she hadn't been shaken up, it would have been a prime opportunity to mock him for it. But Sonya's nerves were jumbled and all she wanted to do that instant was to run away and recover somewhere blissfully alone. "If you wish to speak to me about it, I will listen."

"I have a problem. An immense one, where I cannot possibly think I can make the correct choices. And I can't seem to do anything about it."

A stricken look crossed the knight's eyes as he closed his eyes. "My memories are in pieces, Sonya, but when you speak of such things, I cannot help but remember feeling something familiar." Even in the dim light of the tomb, he spoke slowly, the words piecing s themsleves together as if he was waking up from a long sleep. "I am certain that, because I had ended up alone and adrift at sea, that I must have chosen incorrectly."

He laid a hand across her wrist, and squeezed gently for a moment, lingering just enough for Sonya to notice before letting go again. "I can tell when someone else is carrying that kind of burden."

It was lightly raining in the graveyard as they made their way out of the mausoleum, following the faint shape of a pegasus knight— Sonya couldn't tell which one, exactly, as they moved on their way to the Temple of Mila. That evening, as the others ordered hearty fare from a traveling inn, she stood outside, listening to the sound of water pattering off the roof and the nearby trees. For a moment, there was no impending war, or the fact that she was running out of time to find answers about Marla and Hestia.

"What did you mean by 'that kind of burden'?"

The Whitewings' words came back to her at once. For a moment, her nerves stilled as she curiously listened for an answer. The cantor's words still continued to thrum against her consicousness, but she would trade a few minutes of it to hear what he thought. What a joke it all was. He, a knight that could tear through enemies like a fire. She, a mercenary that worked her way up to command a squadron. And both of them sat helpless before far larger mechanisms. Sonya had never been one to look towards fate as kind, but at the impasse of where it branches, she felt paralyzed in an invisible threshold.

"There was a moment when you couldn't say what you fought for." For someone with amnesia, Zeke's memory for things she didn't want to bring up was irritatingly accurate.

She turned to meet him face-to-face, "That church where I took you and the man that's been summoning monsters to fight us—" Sonya placed her palms together. "They're of the same faith. That's why I left, and that's one of the reasons I fight." She couldn't bear talking about the other reasons she had reservations about the Duma Faithful. "I left because I couldn't stand staying silent about what the priests were allowing to happen." It was an incomplete truth, but Zeke had earned, at the very least, a little more honesty and seriousness from her. And as difficult as it was to admit, she wanted to give it freely.

"Does anyone else know about that?" He asked.

"No. Anyone else that asks gets an answer about makeup and beautiful dresses." She snorted, half out of derisiveness and half out of just how ludicrous the premise sounded when she explained it out loud.

"You went back to find me a healer," recalled Zeke, who was likely thinking out loud.

"Please. I'm not so weak-willed as to faint if I step inside a building full of people I don't like." A little of her usual stand-offishness had crept back into her voice, and she was glad for it.

"No, you're not." was his reply. They stood so close that she could see the rise and fall of his chest as he leaned against the wall of the inn. In the darkness, the sound of his voice felt like the brush of a fresh bolt of fine velvet. "I see strength in you every single day."

Est was partially right. Zeke had brought out something in her, alright, and it was getting harder to shake off. A kinship that by all rights shouldn't have existed at all was there— tenuous, but magnetic and gripping. She felt uneasy towards it, as she did all things that could kill her if they weren't handled properly.

Sonya knew everything worth having came at that type of price, which was why she decided to take the gamble and grab the sleeves of his fine black-and-gold coat. It had never unnerved her to do that, but rarely was the occasion where she found someone that made his decisions, good or ill, with absolute certainty.

That much was obvious as his eyes grew dark, glinting with reflected firelight, as he leaned in to kiss her. She had once thought him the picture of a warrior-god, but there was nothing remotely godly about what he was doing to her nerves as he brushed rough, calloused fingertips against the underside of her hair, likely tangling the long purple locks into snarls. That was fine. Combs were invented for a reason.

" _No_ ," Sonia gasped out suddenly, tearing herself away only out of necessity.

"No?" There was a bewildered edge laced with what had to be panic from Zeke. That was a new emotion from him that she had never seen.

"No, as in there's someone here, and if she doesn't keep a secret, I'm going to turn her and her little flying horse into mincemeat," she hissed. The shock of pink hair at the window vanished immediately, but her determination to have strong words for a certain pegasus knight remained. Though she only saw the back of Est's retreating form, Sonya was certain that she could bet a month's worth of wages as to the ludicrous grin on the girl's face.

"Well," she laced her fingers through his, feeling the still-pounding pulse there. "I'm never going to hear the end of this from her sisters now."


	6. A Matter of Vows

Princess Anthiese was a young, unpolished leader, but what she lacked in experience in leading men into battle, she made up for in conviction. That was what had convinced Zeke to fight for her as she charged through the borderlands that bridged Zofia and Rigel in search of a way to restore the goddess Mila to glory. The same could not be said for many of the mercenaries she had picked up along the way. Easily among his least favorite people was an irritating man blessed with the swordsmanship of a veteran knight mixed the personality of a veteran oaf that went by Saber. As Zeke passed by on the way to check on his warhorse, the other man let out a low whistle.

"What do you want?" Zeke's jaw was set as he looked down at the mercenary, attempting to try to look less threatening when he went about the camp. Generally, there were two ways that other men in the camp spoke to him. There were decent people like Valbar and Atlas, with whom he could speak with as more or less equals. Then there were the layabouts like Saber or Kamui or Jesse, who would try to get a rise out of him. He memorized their names, knew how they fought, and assessed how much use they would be to Celica, like any good knight commander would. When push came to shove, they had the strength to fight past spellcasters that could summon gargoyles and dragons. But geting along with the layabouts as people was a different story entirely.

"Funny," drawled the swordsman with an irritating grin spreading across his face. "I pegged you for some close-minded fop that can't notice a good woman not born into blue blood. And then you go and snatch up the best-looking pair of legs this side of the continent."

"I don't have time for this," he snapped.

"You had time for somebody else," the sellsword quipped. "A _lot_ of time shut inside somebody else's quarters last night."

"If even one word of this gets said to her, I will gut you where you stand, knave,"Zeke bit back a few other choice words, and regretted whatever vows against baser actions he might have taken in a past life.

"Yeesh, swords drawn at dawn already." Saber held his hands up in a mock-truce gesture. "I'm not after her, and she's threatened to set me on fire for trying. Believe me, pal. She's all yours."

"If you keep talking like this, Saber, I'll duel you myself." Sonya approached with a small paper sack and a sharp expression on her face that Zeke suspected was reserved for situations with unreasonable men. "And just so you know, I don't fight clean." He could alomst see sparks come to life around her fingers as the words left her. She had a sense of confidence that rivalled a seasoned general's.

"Now that is a bet even I'm not taking any time soon," to Zeke's surprise, the half-joking threat got a laugh from Saber as he saluted Sonya with two fingers. "Be seeing you around, sorceress. Sir stick-up-the-ass." He gave a nod to Zeke, before rounding the corner and off towards the breakfast table.

"I can't say enthusiasm would be a problem if I ever got a hit list with his name on it," Sonya frowned. She leaned over the fence and glanced at the horses— several winged, given the nature of their band of fighters, that grazed peacefully in the field behind the traveler's inn. Under the guise of a large mercenary band, they had found a temporary base of operations. "But honestly, bawdy speech aside, he's one of the better ones in the line of work."

An involuntary shudder ran through him at the thought of what Sonya considered to be 'the worst ones' in what she did. There were ruffians abound, and as much as he attempted to adjust to treat her as capable and fiercely independent as she really was, Zeke couldn't shake his tendency to need to protect those around him.

Catching sight of his disdain for Saber and his companions, Sonya shrugged. "Well, we can't all be born into serving nobility and getting something of a noble title." She breathed in the scent of the morning around them, which was as brisk, cold and cutting as her comments were. "But if I had to say, I think you've got an unexpected side to you."

"How so?" Zeke drew a thin, wooden whistle from his breast pocket and blew into it. Birds scattered from in front of the field as one of the mounts bgan to thunder towards him— a dark-colored mare that he called Medea, chosen because she matched the patch that had been sewn onto his jacket the day that he had been found. The day she had found him.

"Hmmmm," She drew a bread roll from the bag and bit into it, closing her eyes in pleasure and making him regret that he had left her side prematurely earlier that morning.

"I think," Sonya answered at last, " that you're not so uptight where it _really_ matters. And it's easy for people to learn that you've got a good heart. Which isn't the case for knights at all, especially Rigelian ones." Her eyes narrowed. "I've a friend from my priory days that I write to occasionally. Near her village, a paladin named Jerome is taking villages, and using the women that live in them to extort their husbands and lovers into conscription." Sonya's face twisted in anger. "She's safe —for now— since something called the Deliverance went and got rid of him. But who knows?" She shrugged. "Another like him will easily take his place."

Bile rose in his throat at the comment, and in other circumstances he would've been quickly angered by the words, ready to strike at the wretched fool who called himself a knight. But Sonya's observations troubled him to an extent that Zeke hadn't expected. She had felt faithless before towards the Duma Faithful's clerics, save those that she knew. But knighthood kept to rules that transcended faith in religion, and was bound to serve all within a land. He searched for a good reply, and found sharp words of his own.

"But you were found working for one such man with similar morals, were you not?" Zeke found himself saying. Fondness for her aside, she did have a past as a mercenary, and he had wondered just what moral codes that she, Saber, and other sellswords operated by, if they even had any.

"Touché," she admitted with a slight shrug. "But aren't you knights supposed to be better than us?" Sonya finished off the rest of the bread and handed it over. "And I guess everything changes when someone you care about gets taken away."

Her words carried a weight to them that had resurfaced time and again when Zeke got himself into conversations with Sonya. They prodded at the way that he was certain he saw the world that felt comfortable, even if he was only starting to figure out his place in it. But he couldn't find himself in full agreement. There were ways that knights were duty-bound to act, and any decent knight would make the choices he needed to to protect his land.

"You appear to be unhappy with something I've said." Sonya cast him a wary glance. "Did I touch a nerve?"

"No. I was thinking about what I vowed to do. Before here, and before this," answered Zeke. "Is it wrong that I feel a bit…envious of those who have a duty to do, even if it reviles them? I have a vow, of sorts, to Princess Anthiese. But I want to know what I vowed to do before that, as well."

"Goodness, but that's only natural, isn't it?" Sonya propped her head onto her hand as she reached out to stroke the bridge of Medea's nose. "I'd want to get my memories of what I've done back, even if they weren't very nice ones. And I'd want the same for you." She reached her hand back and gently squeezed his wrist.

It was a rare show of conviction for someone who claimed that she would fight for a good paycheck. She had a tenderness to her that was carefully hidden away, but was as true as anyone else's.

He felt the brush of Sonya's lips against the side of his cheek as she drew closer. "Who knows? Maybe I'll need to make a few nicer memories in the aftermath," she whispered. The pad of her thumb slowly traced the outline of his jaw before he realized that Sonya had stepped away and hopped off the fence, landing in the grass with an almost inaudible footfall. Her soft, melodious laughter trailed after her like an invisible veil as she departed.

Whatever the world had in store again, he was certain that he wanted to go home to the sound of that laughter, and hold fast to the woman at the source for as long as he could.


	7. Memories of Sisterhood and Strife

"Okay, what happened here?" Catria asked briskly. She and Palla had returned from getting something to eat to find Sonya and Est, the two members of the ragtag army assigned to the night watch, sitting side by side on the fire. Est, however, was slumbering away, tucked underneath Sonya's cloak, her face flushed cherry-red. The mage was bare-armed, but didn't appear to mind the cold one bit.

"Celica found a bottle of some wine from her village hidden away in a cave, and I decided to try some. Est…well, asked what I was drinking, and…wanted a sip?" Sonya, who was into her second glass, trailed off. The idea sounded less explainable by the second.

"You just _let_ her have some?" Catria's voice was incredulous, and she enunciated every word as if it was a charge against Sonya. Hestia had spoken to her that way once ,when a favorite hairbrush of hers went missing. She didn't have to guess very hard if Catria liked to speak to Est that way when the Whitewing did something not quite up to her standards.

"She took one sip, and then went out cold." Sonya gestured over to where Est slept soundly. The smallest Whitewing snuggled into the cape with a giggle. "See? No harm done."

"I think she'll be fine, Catria." The eldest Whitewing laid a hand on the flustered younger girl's shoulder. "Sit. Let's have a chat to pass the time until her watch is done." Though Sonya could feel the glare of the middle Whitewing, eventually she saw the girl relent and prop herself against the side of the fire pit, swinging her legs over the bench where the four of them sat. She was never one to take babysitting jobs for a good reason, given the exasperated looks on the faces of Est's elder sisters.

"Are you sure it's wise to drink while you stand guard on night watch?" The middle sister raised her voice again. It was eerie, how the two of them had mannerisms that evoked memories of Sonya's own sisters.

"I have fought back trespassers while far less sober than I am now, thank-you-very-much." Sonya took affront to few things said to her by other women, but short of guessing that she was older than she really was, thinking that she could be so easily made incompetent was the next-worst insult. "Now, what was it you wanted to find me for? Or were you simply coming to take her back to her quarters?"

"We wanted to try to tell you what we knew about Zeke," Palla said gently.

"Ah," Sonya stared at her glass, then at them, and then at the glass again. She promptly downed the rest of the small gulp of wine left in it. "Go ahead."

From what she could remember from the conversation, there were details that roughly sketched out the young queen that the sisters, minus Est, had served, something about a dragon, and somewhere called 'Grust,' which was where Zeke—or Camus, as he was really called— had served as a general and carried out ruthless order after ruthless order to the letter. Sonya's lips thinned at the mention of them, but said nothing. It troubled her that even away from the clash of Rigel and Zofia, there was no sanctuary to be found across the oceans.

"Est herself went through into the kingdom he guarded to steal that sword, which she delivered to Prince Marth…and Princess Nyna."

Sonya let out a low whistle. "I'm impressed. But I've seen her fly, and if anyone could pull that off, it'd be her." She paused. "But wait, she wasn't angry at him when she saw him here?"

"Est's got a big heart. And she likes you," was all Palla said in return, giving Sonya a slight smile of her own. "I think she's gotten a littles stronger, and more perceeptive than we give her credit for. Isn't that right, Catria?"

"Palla's trying to get me to loosen up while we're here instead of at home." She admitted at last. "But I'm just worried about her. That's all." There was no denying that she was a fretter, and Est the often-unwilling target of said fretting.

Catria met Sonya's gaze with a stony expression that the mage took to mean that she was someone who clashed easily with those that had free-spirited personalities. Pragmatic to the point of near-cynicism, she relaxed her grip on the bench and folded her hands into her lap.

As the silence subsided, both girls looked at her, as if checking to see how she received the news. At last, Sonya spoke up.

"I think, if I'm being completely honest here, that it's just not that often that someone is kind without wanting anything back. And that's how I let him in." As if to give herself something to do, she traced the rim of her glass. "It just happened before I knew it."

The question, of course, was what would happen if he decided to depart after the war. Whatever place the three sky-knights had come from, he was a part of that world when it came down to it— not hers. There was weight behind the way that Palla had paused and looked away when she mentioned a 'Princess Nyna.' But nothing further needed to be said.

Of course he had won the heart of a Princess somewhere like that. It was impossible not to, with a nature that irritatingly, fetchingly earnest like his was. Even if he had some sort of gruff knight's exterior.

The news had a bitter taste of a wine that she would savor in due time, but would go down with some difficulty. There was a small part of her that winced as if cut by a knife when she thought of the possibility of him leaving. It was impossible. She had steeled herself against getting attached to people, and Zeke couldn't be an exception to that rule. Like a traitor that had just decided to surface, her panicked heart sped up and almost involuntarily, Sonya placed her hand over her collarbone to steady herself. It had stunned her to think of a future without him, just as each instance of the Whitewing sisters cared for one another reminded her of the family she had been robbed of.

At the end of the day, every instance of kindness was temporary, and she was destined to work— and live— wandering onwards alone.

She felt the drop of her cloak over her shoulders and found Est awake. The youngest Whitewing bright and cheery and full of concern, standing over her. The soft blend of expensive Zofian-spun wool was a welcoming touch after spending most of the evening in the cold, warmed only by the temporary buzz of wine.

"Well, what did you all talk about while I was asleep?" She yawned. "Did any terrors attack the camp? Is that why Sonya looks so spooked?"

"No, Est, we told her about what had happened back home." Palla regarded her youngest sister with a patient glance. "In detail this time."

"Oh, is that all? Sonya, listen." Est sat down onto the bench, nestling closer to the now-wary mage. "They weren't married yet. That means you still have a _great_ chance with him. Isn't that right, guys?"

For a glimpse after the cheery words, Sonya saw consternation that suggested unspoken frustrations she couldn't quite place cross both older sisters' expressions.

It was a time-honred tradition that whenever there were three sisters that the youngest, in some form or another, would make her older sisters miserable. "Little girl, I don't think the world works quite like that." She grinned, picking up the empty bottle and glass. "But it's nice to dream big."

But dreaming big was one way that spirited youngest siblings survived. Est had lived, flown, fought, and loved freely and moved with a liveliness about her as she trailed her sisters back towards their sleeping quarters, chattering about how she absolutely could have handled more than a sip of Ram wine. There were wonderful days ahead of the sisters, but not without challenge.

With a wariness that things were a little too late and a steadiness that sobered her steps, Sonya followed them out of the cold, done for the night in more ways than one.


	8. Knight in a Pale Mask

It was difficult for Zeke to not noice the young knight whenever he appeared to aid Princess Anthiese when her spirits seemed lowest. In his hands was a glowing blessed lance, which cut through the putrid flesh of monsters and terrors as if they were made of the same stuff as any normal soldier. Whoever had taught the masked young man to fight had more discipline than anyone that he had ever seen. What's more, no other lightly-armored paladins rode at Celica's side. There were only the Whitewings, three sky-knight sisters who regarded him with apprehension and, in the youngest one's case, curiosity. Valbar, one of Celica's mercenary-recruits, could withstand hits but trudged slowly through Rigel's swamps and forest, weighed down by the heavy battle armor over his shoulders.

Whenever Zeke, the Princess, or anyone else had tried to find the masked knight in the aftermath of skirmishes or clashes, the man had vanished, leaving behind no traces of where he had been. The half-mask over his face obscured his eyes and features.

Late autumn had fallen over the continent, leading to longer evenings spent in eating-houses or out camping in cool, dry places where kindling could catch easily into fires. On that particular evening, they were preparing to pass through another boneyard, where a Cantor that summoned mighty necrodragons was said to have dwelled. Celica had described the beasts one during a war council to newer recruits of the army, and when she spoke of the beasts, her gaze darkened. Only after a slew of arrows, holy spells, and fireballs did one of the beasts fell. The man that they faced was said to summon four with a simple wave of his hand that could span a battlefield in a matter of seconds and snap a man's neck clean off.

"Maybe he's got a scar that he doesn't want anyone to see." Sonya traced something invisible and jagged over his face, and leaned back in her seat. "Hmm, no. That's just what I would do."

She tilted her face to the side, mulling over the question a bit longer in a ponderous expression captivated Zeke's attentions. He steadily found contentment in the how she opened herself up more to him, little by little, as his patience was rewarded. "I think that someone in this army would recognize him. And that's why he disguises himself, " Sonya concluded at last.

"Then it would have to be Princess Anthiese," concluded Zeke. "He's clearly fighting for her sake, and acting in accordance with the conduct of any knight worth his title."

At the words, he saw a shadow of something— anger, sorrow, doubt, or another hidden emotion she 'd rather he not press on— pass over her features, turning her usually sultry features into a forced impassiveness. She hid something from him.

"If something troubles you Sonya, know that you can tell me, and I will try to sweep it away. " It was so simple, how he could make just about any situation sound far more in need of a gallant, comforting presence.

"I've had a hangover all day. Is that something you're able to sweep away?" She yawned, rubbing her temples and taking another sip of tea. In one motion, Zeke swept his fingers across the back of her neck gently. Sonya was no longer startled when he touched her, but the sudden motion still jolted her from whatever doldrums she slogged through.

"It is done, milady." Zeke met her gaze with the slightest of smirks.

"And so the chivalric code is reinforced another day." She rose and brushed a kiss against his temple— slight enough so that no one would stare; still, the feeling of her lips and breath lingered just long enough so that it becaome a question of what he wanted. Again and again, the answer was her.

If Sonya ever had one word to describe Celica, she would have summed the girl up as tireless. Though quiet and plain in appearance, she had led the, through countless battles without error. But something had toroubled the commander as of late, and she was determined to find out what it was that the girl hid from everyone but Saber and her closest confidants, two mages and a cleric from her Mila-worshipping prioriy. But increasingly, her company was with the masked knight, who had joined their ranks after a particularly nasty bout with the Duma Faithful led by a cleric named Dolth.

That was who Sonya had set her sights on for information, and she was seldom wrong about who was most likely to talk under the right circumstances. Whch was why she had recruited the most ready candidate to try.

"I'm not saying you need to flirt with him. Although if that gets the job done…"

"Have I ever attempted to flirt with you?" Zeke raised an eyebrow.

Sonya paused, exhaling out something that was half-exasperation, half-amusement. He had done many things befitting a perfectly fine lover, and never bored her for a second. But flirting wasn't remotely the strong suit of someone that radiated the sort of earnestness that he did. One couldn't quite classify encouraging comments about strength at an emotional low point as a convntional means of flirting, after all.

"Okay, then just talk about knight things like honor and morals until he starts trusting you. Easy enough to do, right?"

It was one of those instances where Zeke was torn between correcting her and laughing. From the way that his shoulder shook, it was likely that the latter instinct had won over.

Sonya shrugged. "Hey, if he talks, we figure out what troubles the commander. and then go from there"

"Would she not simply tell us if she wished us to know?"

She shook her head "Despite the task on her shoulders, Celica is still a teenager, Zeke. That's not going to happen. Which is why you have to knight-flirt with our masked friend. Good luck!"

It was unnerving, how much joy it caused to be able to joke with someone so serious-natured. Being around him had brought out the side of her that liked to do it, where for others, her humor was mostly used to fend off arguments or remarks she didn't wish to hear. Relxing into her seat, she watched Celica herself fiddle with something small at a nearby table., turning it over in her hands in idleness.

Figuring that it would take some time for a proper knight courtship process to unfold, she picked up her drink and greeted the young princess with a wave.

"That's a pretty pendant you've got there. Was it a prize you picked up in a treasure coffer?"

The question seemed to haev broken Celica out of whatever gloomy thoughts possessed her. "This?" Celica held up the small rose-pink and gold necklace. "No, it's a turnwheel— a relic of Mila that's supposedly able to pierce time and grant visions and memories in a time of need. I've been figuring out its powers throughout the journey to see what it can do."

As Sonya peered closer at the pendant, she saw that she had been wrong— far from merely pretty, it was a marvel of clockwork, brass, and painstakingly-carved details. But more importantly than that, its powers provided opportunities to answer the questions she had.

"If I were to have a question that required looking through time, would I be able to unlock the wheel's magic?"

"Well, you would need one of these," Celica rummaged in her packs and pulled out a small, dun cog. They work just once, but it's how the wheel is recharged." She peered at Sonya curiously. "Is there some memory you're looking to find?" The cog went away, and she suspected that its magic had been used up by Celica or someone else within the army.

"Of course," answered Sonya. "Who wouldn't, if given the chance? But I can see how that type of magic can get dangerous, as well…" She watched Celica pass the turnwheel over to her, studying its properties with a sense of trepidation. She asns't one for stealing religious relics, no matter how much she had distanced herself from the gods.

"I've been under a lot of pressure to make decisions lately." The princess closed her fingers around the pendant once more when Sonya returned it. "It's comforting knowing that there are possibilities for things to be better, but then again…"

"— You're not cetain that's the reality we're in." Sonya finished.

"Exactly," Celica furrowed her brow. "I may have to make a choice for everyone's sake, but at a cost we won't like."

A pulse of feeling that she was certain was sickness passed through Sonya. The tone of her voice had some familiarity to it, but the evidence of just what troubled the princess still evaded her. Her instincts told her that pushing things further would only yield a dead end.

"Say," she suggested. "if I came across a cog, could I borrow your turnwheel for a little while?"

The mask was the most ludicrous-looking thing he had ever tried on. Yet, Zeke was surprised at how easily he could maneuver in it.

"Not so bad, is it?" asked Conrad. "I had it designed to not limit your vision even if you wore it while atop a horse." The young man beamed. He was a warm-spirited young man, which was no surprise, as he had turned out to be the brother of their commander. Zeke found out the details quickly as he conversed about the conditions of the army and gained the other paladin's trust. It had come as something of a relief to be able to speak to someone that considered battle and strategy as he did. The conversation had been most distracting, particularly since he was tasked to search for Celica-related information from him.

The boy served no order of knights, but instead was loyal to a sage that had been thrown from the church of the Duma Faithful. He spoke freely once unmasked, as if the piece of pale clay had transformed him into someone else altogether as he defended his sister.

"As tempting as it is to fight this way, I can't see myself ever needing this." He handed it back, still trying to puzzle out just what had happened that forced such a talented young man into fighting in disguise.

"You never know," shrugged Conrad. He peered over at a table and panicked, placing his mask right back where it was earlier that day. "But if you're ever in need of a conversation— or to borrow one of these— I shall be happy to show you."

Avoiding the fact that across the room, Sonya was giving him silent but energetic encouragement to kee talking, he continued regardless. "Now, tell me about that lance that was offered at a prize at this arena."

"Sure. It's called Gradivus…"


	9. The Lance and the Cog

Zeke glanced down at the paper bill that the promoters had handed out, advertising something of a magical duo that was fearless. From the looks of the arena, the advertisement had been half-correct. A harried-looking mage, his hands trembling, cast a fire spell that knocked a monster's shield away. Beside him was a cleric who was clad in a somewhat ill-fitting habit of the church of Mila. Her expression was calm and confident as she prepared a Seraphim spell to clear away the remaining entombed that lurched towards them.

"Why would anyone throw bonewalkers into an arena?" Zeke murmured.

"Do I need to explain what 'illegal' means?" She shook her head. "But I'd be remiss, of course, to mention that this is what nobles love to gawk at, and put up money for. Man versus monster, each fighting for scraps of what the other considers to be food. "

"What ruthlessness," muttered Zeke. At last, the saint, triumphant in victory, hauled the arm of a nauseated mage up as the crowd burst into cheers. He and Sonya and a few attendants, gawkers and the guards of the arena retreated into a back room. Breathing slowly, he thought of the strange pull that drew him to the top prize of the fighting tournament, how it shattered his doubts about fighting in such a place in an instant.

"Do you suppose yourself above ruthlessness?" Sonya uncorked a bottle of water and took a contemplative swig. She watched for the messenger that would ferry him towards glory or death, wondering what sort of warrior— or monster— that they had concocted.

"Not for the right reason. I cannot recall why, but this lance holds a key to a memory of mine. I don't know when the last time I've wanted something more—" His voice grew exctited, but faltered almost immediately. The question crossed his mind instantly, and he had an answer for her.

She offered no good answer in response, when he had expected some sort of quip, a word of advice, or simply some comment about men chasing after shiny weapons like some women did jewelery and gowns. But Sonya was silent and sullen, considering something like a difficult puzzle or conundrum he couldn't place.

Like a door that had closed to him, she had disappeared somwhere unknown. Her face was uncharacteristically red as she fidgeted with something in her hands. Zeke paused for a minute, looking her over. Something had changed about Sonya, and not just in her demeanor.

"Ah," His gaze finally recognized the object. Her hair, usually neatly bound, fell in thick waves over her face. It was her elaborate embroidered headband that Sonya held in her hands. Reaching out, she carefully wrapped it over his arm and fastened it so that it fit over the sleeves of his coat.

"A favor," Her words came out quickly as she continued to avoid his gaze. Rarely were there situations where the woman could be described as 'cute,' but theirs was an age of impossible things. "For luck," Sonya clarified, as if she needed to explain what it meant.

It was then that Zeke realized that he had spoken out of turn over what he wanted to reach out for. But by then, the attendants were already ushering him through the gates, ready to face whatever destiny awaited him.

The cheers of the arenagoers pounded against his bones as he stepped out into the arena with spear in hand. But all he could feel was the almost-living pulse of the headband that was warpped around his shoulders. He doubted that there was a spell cast on it, but Zeke carried the weight of what he had said, in all its irreversable nature.

At the entrance of the arena, Zeke faced down the young man— his opponent. He was smaller in build and bound tufts of blue hair back with an undyed linen headband. His eyes were striking in their determination to begin fighting, and instantly his gaze went to the lance in Zeke's hands, then to his face. Without words, the youth beat the side of a steel shortsword against the small pointed shield in his free hand.

 _"Are you a man or not, Prince Marth? Draw your sword!"_

The words— not the boy's, but his, came back, in a sound that was so clear Zeke could almost hear himself shout it into the noisy arena, cutting through the noise of the crowd. Suddenly, everything that he knew to be true— his sworn fealty to Celica and her cause, his uneasiness over his clumsy words, slipped away. He was at a crossroads, being pulled by two strong tides of fate.

Shifting, he felt the headband tighten slightly onto the sleeve of his jacket.

"You're never going to avoid the bigger picture things, but the only thing you really can do is take that first step." Sonya had said once.

Whatever happened next, he had her, and that was enough. And to not tell her that was the most foolish decision he'd made.

With determination, Zeke charged onwards, knowing that the lance Gradivus, which was a name he knew he could never forget, would be his.

Sonya closed the box with a quiet click, slipping the small cog into her packs. The cool halls of the temple closed around her as she stepped from the dais of a treasure room, her eyes searching for rooms out of the ordinary. What lay within the temple that was hers to find was a relic of not Duma, but of Mila, his rival and sister.

While Zeke was preoccupied with chasing his glory, there was an opportune moment for her to sneak out and seize what was meant to be hers— a cog to unlock memories that would spill the secrets of the Duma Faithful.

She collected her thoughts of what she knew about the temple. In ancient times, both Duma and Mila had shared altars within the building. But as Rigel took power under the banner of the war-god, frescoes where both divine dragons had dined, discussed mortal matters, and built out the land they shared had been scrubbed by the clergy and painted over with more suitable scripture. Sonya pursed her lips, knowing all too well what it did to try to think of the past with too much rosiness, especially when it was all a lie.

The arena had been a reminder that she had wasted far too much time fretting over what would never be hers. Not while the main cause of her sorrows still lived and breathed. Zeke's words and their bluntness had stung, but then again, she had always known that the affections of someone who didn't belong there and didn't belong to her would be temporary. There would be a time, a place, and a woman that suited him. In time, with enough work to distract her, she would heal.

That was what Sonya would try to tell herself. Whether she would follow through was another story.

Despite the fact that the building stretched on into the vast unnown, the air was as still as the tombs she had ventured through during expeditions for Celica or for her own treasure-seeking purposes. A small orb of fire hovered over her shoulder, illuminating bits and pieces of sacred text that had been drilled into her by the priory's sisters. But she paid them no mind.

She felt the crackle of energy of a quickly-forming spell, and stepped swiftly to the side as a black bolt of energy slammed into the nearby wall. Sonya turned, drawing a sharp intake of breath as she faced down her foe.

A man robed in crimson and purple stood before her. His jaws were gaunt, as if someone had taken the skin around his face and stretched them so that it fit taut over the outlines of his skulls. Eyes that once appeared more human but now glowed a grim red stared back at her.

"Jedah." An icy chill crept into her voice. "I should have known you would bait a trap like this." Already she reached for her spells, but warily, Sonya already doubted what she was able to do. She was alone, and like it or not, the Dum Faithful always had tricks up their sleeves to call for reinforcements.

"I know well what you would do to me. But it isn't me that you'll be fighting. No…" Jedah chuckled, gesturing imperiously with a wave of his hand. Two flashes of light beside him teleported two tall, elegant figures onto the dais where he stood.

"I don't think introductions will be necessary, do you, girls?"

"No, Lord Jedah," chorused Marla and Hestia in complete unison. They peered through their sister as if she were an inanimate obstacle.

Sonya steeled her nerves and tried to will them, jumbled as they were, into just enough anger to come up with a plan and survive. Her heart pounded with unsaid words— regret, rage, and the memories that she couldn't tell anyone— not Celica, not the Whitewings, and perhaps not even Zeke— flooding out into her consciousness, choking out the reason that usually was second nature to her.

When she regained control of her senses, the two witches were already after her. She took off running.

Sonya had always been the swiftest fighter and fastest spellcaster among the three sisters, and it showed as she parried bolts of fire, thunder, and gusts of wind that Marla and Hestia hurled with her own magic. She had honed her skills through mercenary work for a reason, and that was to prepare for anything that Jedah would throw like her. The cantor himself leered at his daughters from off to the side with an sneering mockery of fatherly pride.

Her sisters finally moved as one, and sent a new spell her way. Despite everything she knew to be true about fighting, Sonya faltered, slowing down just one second too late.

"Whitewings, advance!" In the distance, she heard Palla's voice rang clearly through the temple as flurries of white dove after the witches, spears at the ready. Princess Anthiese herself followed, drawing her golden blade and joining the fray, wreathed by the flames of a Fire spell.

But by then, the damage had already been done.

A wicked Aura spell had burned through her resistances and struck her in square the back, a perversion of the holy magic that had been taught to them in the priory. The chamber filled with Witches, and, their job completed, Marla and Hestia vanished to follow their master towards other nefarious deeds to be done. She had fallen forwards onto the temple tiles, collapsing instantly.

Zeke was there, he held her gently, but even the sight of his face appeared fuzzy and unclear. The burn at her back ate away at what was left of her strength, and she slumped to the floor, feeling herself sag against him. Through half-closed eyes, Sonya saw his lips move, first shouting for a healer, then leaning in and starting to murmur something. He pressed something against her forehead, and she remembered when things were simple enough that all she had to worry about was a silly little knight's favor, given in half-jest, half-anger.

"Well, if you won, I guess your date with destiny went a lot better than mine…" Sonya croaked weakly, before darkness overtook her.


	10. Dreary Reunions

Camus knew that had sealed his own fate the instant that he chose the knighthood he had worked so hard to earn over the Princess, as bitter as the decision was. That past was done, for all intents and purposes, and anything other than duty to her was over with. Fate, whatever its machinations, had decided to ask him the same question once more.

Others within the army moved away from him as he sat outside the room where Sonya recovered with a grave expression. He clenched his fists tightly, feeling the bones of his hand press into his palm. Somehow, the motion soothed him, but Camus found a little comfort in the knowedge that everything had come in its proper place. As his memories returned, they didn't cancel out the recollections he had picked up since the day that he was mercilessly branded a traitor and set adrift. It didn't matter that since then, Zeke was someone conjured out of his imagination, his knowledge of combat, and the grave of a dead man. When it came to honor and respect, that patched-together name was worth more than Camus' true name now.

"We've been working to try to tend to her wounds. I promise you that the moment you can see her, you will." Celica patted his arm gently. "I'm not certain what happened bretween the two of you, and, erm…I'm not the most experienced at talking about this myself, but if you need someone to talk to…" She trailed off, looking off somewhere in the distance.

Camus recalled that occasionally the young princess spoke wistfully of someone wiht the name 'Alm,' who matched the name of a young man known to be fighting his way across Rigel at the head of the Deliverance. He appeared to be a fine warrior of good character, and likely just as good a match for Princess Anthiese. Both nobles, though young, had a soudnness of mind that allowed him to follow them with no doubts

"Princess, there are many ways that you may be wiser than I," remarked Camus. "Please get some rest. I will keep watch over her."

"Ah, one more thing. When Sonya wakes up," Celica added, "Please tell her I lent her this." Something strung on a fine chain of gold fell into his palm, and he found that he held an intricate pocket watch set in pale rose mother-of-pearl.

With a small nod of understanding, Princess Anthiese disappeared off to the mess hall to retrieve something ot eat for her and her fellow cleric. Both girls had worked tiredlessly to stem the damage from an Aura spell cast by two powerful witches, both of which had struck Sonya square in the back.

The moment he learned of the news was when he realized that the man he was and the man he had become had different reactions to learning of her fate. Camus would have steeled his nerves and pressed on. Zeke would move heaven end earth to turn back and run towards her side. The spear that was his by right lay in his chambers, yet it felt like a leaden weight at his back now. A flurry of options, paths and feelings cut through him like the flying daggers of assassins that were said to live in foreign lands.

"Hey." Another person sat down next to him in narrow bench of the inn's hallway. Looking up, he saw the face of a girl that had watched him curiously each time they crossed paths, before her two sisters usherered her away. He had tensed whenever the pink-haired girl was in sight for reasons that he wasn't sure of.

Only now did Camus realize Est was, and what part she had played in the past they shared in Archanaea. A vision came to him of a sacred blade taken from its place by the pink-haired knight, who took the skies alongside her compatriots just as easily as his cavaliers could charge across the plains on horseback.

"It was not long ago that your Princess and I stood on the opposite sides of a battlefield," he observed, drawing a breath at the weight of everything that had happened between the masters that he and the Whitewings respectively served.

"We're a long way from the war, Sir Camus. Well, the one that concerns Macedon and Grust, anyways. But not war itself." Est straightened her posture and faced him with a direct, frank expression that was serene at the surface and all steely hidden strength undereneath.

"Has Macedon sent you to this continent, then?" The fiery-headed Queen was known to have a rash nature, but sending her knights to pursue him wasn't something Zeke expected that she would do readily.

"No," Est pursed her lips. "I got into a bit of trouble, and my sisters followed. It's a long story." Catching his pointed glance, she glared right back. "And no, I'm not going around taking relics from here. That was then, and this is now."

The outspoken pegasus knight was never someone he had thought would be a comforting presence in an instance when his mind, his memory, and the path forward all seemed to be in simultaneous turmoil. Yet like just about everything about Valentia, the rules worked differently enough that he could take nothing over from Archanaea and make it work. Camus suspected that the Whitewings, talented knights that they were, were running into the same problems.

"What did you wish to speak to me about?" It wasn't easy speaking to the three young women who had avoided him for months, and less easy was the task now that he knew why.

"Sonya. We were talking when she was guarding me, and I think that she's got a good heart. We told her about you. The real you." The young knight's solemn answers sunk into Camus like leaden weights. There had been moments within the past weeks where she had looked towards him with a mix of curiosity of dread. It had always happened when the heat of battle had sent back bits and pieces of memory before the familiarity of Gradivus had finished the job.

"She knew,"

"Yes, and it _looks_ like she doesn't get hurt easily, but….Just be careful, okay? Sonya's got feelings to think about just like anyone else." There was a pleading earnestness in the young pegasus knight's eyes. It was clear that she had befriended the mage, which didn't surprise him. Sonya's dty wit lit up a room effortlessly, and the sound of her mirthful laughter crackled like leaves drying by a deliciously warm fire that he wanted to lay hours besides.

It was unnerving, how the girl broke out into a grin. "Alright, I've said enough. Go visit. I'm sure you'll have a lot to talk about."

"Mmmm?" Sonya's voice was a mumble as she groggily braced her shoulders against the wall to pull herself up. The resulting pain burned her so much that she drew a sharp breath and let out a hiss of swears that made the girl blush.

"Ah, praise the Mother. You're awake!" chirped the young cleric, wringing out a towel with a pleased smile on her face. "Your back is going to be sore from the spell-burn, but I think the worst of it is just about over with."

Genny, a young cleric with a surprising tenacity for devouring thick books and novels when traveling, was the most tired that Sonya had ever seen her. Her frizzy orange hair stuck out from head at odd angles, and her face had been flushed, likely from fiddling with the contents of a cleric's medicine bag that looked to be spread out throughout her surroundings. She had been sleeping in a comfortable but simply furnished inn. For how long, she was uncertain.

"Where am I?" Sonya mumbled. She felt the need for a glass of wine to take the edge off the stinging ointment applied to her back, but knew better. Given the somewhat imperious edge that crept into Genny's voice when she worked with patients, it was a request likely to be turned down in a manner that she would find irritating to the highest degree.

"A small village near the abandoned church," answered Genny. "Zeke got worried after you didn't come back to base, and asked Celica to take a few men to try to find you, and—" She heard a knock at the door. "Yes? She's awake. Would you like to see her?"

The idea of pretending to be asleep was appealing for a moment, but Sonya decided against the tactic, knowing well enough that they would have to have the conversation sooner or later. A small but insistent part of her wanted to hold onto him feel anchored to something, even if it was the last time they would see one another.

Zeke was as uncertain as she had ever seen him as he entered the room, exhaling audibly as he saw her sitting upright, eyes open and alert. Her nerves tensed as he stood off to the side, talking quietly with the cleric taking care of her. She had never allowed him to see her without makeup, even when they spent nights together. But now, she was haggard, weary, and looked the every part of a woman that had gotten too recklessly entangled in a secret she couldn't keep hidden.

Sonya heard the door shut, and looked up to see him sitting by her bed. For the first time in a long while, she found herself without words. But the fact that he was there, alive and well after his bout in the arena, said one thing.

He drew something from his pockets, and she felt something slip onto her temple. Sonya looked up into Zeke's eyes as he worked carefully to tie her headband back into place, smoothing her hair over over where the ribbon was secured so that it fell over her shoulders once more. If anything, it was a cold comfort to watch tenderness seep past Zeke's stern facade the same way it always did when he looked at her. He had loved to sweep her hair across her shoulders to get a better view of her shoulders and the generous neckline of the close-fitting dresses she liked to wear. But now, he moved with a reverance, and she wasn't in the mood to do anything but sleep and resolve everything between them.

Sonya had suspected that he had made her sentimental years ago when they had met among a series of graves when he was wandering about, lost but true to an idea of honor that he clung to like a liferaft.

"I hope you're not going to tell me that what I did was foolish," she began.

"Sonya, I am many things, but a hypocrite I am no more. Not with what I've done." With his memories back, Zeke—or Camus— spoke with a weariness that at once signified the weight he carried and the relief that he had distanced himself from it. "If there was something you were searching for, even at the price of death— that's a path that I'm quite familiar with."

"When you decided to stay with that oaf of a king. Well, I don't know if he was an oaf or not. But from all accounts…" Sonya's features pressed into one of disgust. "If it were me, I would have stayed with that Princess. Even if that meant, well…" She laughed bitterly. "Even if that meant the two of us would never meet, General."

It was funny, watching him look so stricken at her mention of someone he must have loved once. But if he was going to go back to a Princess elsewhere, she preferred to hear it from him directly.

"That is a chapter of my life that has closed. I rule no armies, and I fight as a servant of Princess Anthiese just like any other soldier." Camus closed his yes, breathing out the acceptance of a difficult truth. But when he opened them again, she saw clear relief and a man at ease with what he now faced.

"It was my duty to protect that land, and protect the princess." She felt the weight of the words, steady but certain. "But that has changed."

"Oh?" The question was as simple of one as could be. Yet it carried more hope than Sonya dared to put into a great many things.

"I had once thought that I could never throw away who I was, and poured every part of myself into defending the land and the commanders that knighted me." He glanced off towards the open window as the wind picked up, rustling his golden hair.

"No longer," murmured Zeke— or, rather, Camus. It was silly to go by the name that he had been given by a king that he did not truly serve. "No, Sonya. My heart and my home is with you, if you wish it."

Reaching over, he pressed a small object into her palm, and brushed a soft kiss against her temple.

"Princess Anthiese is lending it to you. She asked me to pass it on." Sonya felt the mattress give as he stood, sweeping his coat aside and preparing to depart.

Love was an incredibly frightening phenomenon. Sonya had seen lovers get too attached when it was time to move on to a different job, or when a different town or village called out to her. Yet there was never pain in parting from anyone but "Wait." Her words were uncertain, but as he turned, she reaffirmed her decision. "I want you to see this. I looked into your secrets. It's time you knew mine as well."

Hand in hand, they watched as the quiet click of clockwork brought the information Sonya sought for years to life.

 _"She has shown the potential to cast spells twice as fast as the others. In time, she will make a fine soul for the Faithful," murmured the cloaked man. In the alcove, two young women stood just out of sight of the group of robed clerics, who continued to talk in hushed tones among themselves. The tallest among them was growing more and more excited as he ranted._

 _"Sonya will be the finest offering for Lord Duma. Such spirit, such fire!"_

 _"Lord Jedah, what of the other two?"_

 _"They are too old to go willingly. But the young…they are far more easily convinced into the fold, are they not?" The older priest grinned, flashing bright teeth._

 _"Halt," One of the women said, holding her hand out._

 _"Father, we have a proposition," Marla's voice was calm as she stepped out from her hiding place. "Sonya's life for ours."_

 _Hestia's voice quavered as she nodded. "You must promise to leave her. In return, we will join the Faithful as soldiers." It was clear from her eyes, which darted towards the exits of the room, that it was a choice she did not take lightly, and one that she already regretted._

 _"My two beautiful daughters," sneered Jedah. "Why, this is a sudden change of heart. I thought you were content to languish in that priory, wasting your potential."_

 _"They do possess the potential to feed Lord Duma two souls' worth of magic…" murmured the cleric next to him. "Lord Jedah, this is quite a bargain you've stumbled into!"_

 _"Indeed," nodded the cleric. "Well, girls, come along." He beckoned to both purple-haired women. "The night is wasting away, and I intend to make good on your promise."_

 _"But can't we say goodbye—" Hestia began, her gaze frantic._

 _"I do not recall including time for such sentiments in our agreement," snapped Jedah._

 _Hestia only clutched tighter to Marla's hands as the robed cantors circled around them, leading Sonya's sisters farther away from the priory's main chambers into the secret rooms that the Duma Faitfhul carried out rituals unknown to the other priests. After one shuddering breth, they were gone._

The turnwheel's mechanisms slowed and stopped, as the cog's power ran out. With her sisters' last words still swirling about in her head, Sonya reached out and took the little turnwheel. Clutching it to her chest, she allowed herself one solitary moment of relapse in years of a well-practiced mercenary's iciness. Her chest heaved and in one shuddering sob after another, she mourned. 


	11. Against the Faith

"Do you wish to be alone?" Camus asked softly.

If there was an option to answer this question with both yes and no, she would have taken it. As it stood, there was no spell that she had on hand to erase what they had seen in the turnwheel, and any conversation she put off would only delay what he would ask of her. Sonya had prepared herself for sights that the little device of clockwork and memories had shown her, but only in part.

She didn't have a ready answer for that question. Instead, she brushed her thumb over the turnwheel's surface, thinking of what she could readily bring up about her sisters. That was something she had a ready answer for. "In truth, whenever I get the chance, and get the money to find information about them." Sonya replied. "And I've known that something kept the Duma Faithful from me all this time, but the price that was paid…For quite some time, I thought there was nothing that could have been done about it" She trailed off, still grasping the nonmoving turnwheel. "But that then, and this is now."

The conclusion was laced with bitterness, regret, and a great deal of feelings that in the moment, she trusted nobody but the two sisters she had lost to understand.

When he reached for her hand again this time, she took it, finding security in him that she had never allowed herself to take from just about anyone else. And yet, there was the pressing, nagging presence that was doubt— the small possibility that he would see everything she had seen and felt as weakness.

It had likely taken a lot of conviction for someone like him to decide to charge into war and abandon the Princess that could have been his. What could someone like that possibly understand about the recklessness, loneliness, and backbreaking work that went into seeking the brand of vengeance she did?

"Sonya, you don't have to take this burden on at once, and you don't have to do it alone. Know this." Something curiously resembling optimism stirred in her chest. "They moved heaven and earth to see you safe, and would be proud to see you now, if they could." He was clear-eyed as they looked silently at one another, his certainty against the solidarity moment of vulnerability she had shown.

He had spoken many pretty words to her, but those came easily to knights. For crying out loud, there was a reason that they were such popular subjects of cloying stories and songs. She had no doubt that somewhere, someone was either writing or overperforming something melodramatic with Camus as the subject. But as was the case with a great deal of stories, the subjects at the center differed than the iterations that people wanted to believe. And what he had given her was time, comfort, a companion to talk to, and so much more.

It was strange, how it felt to have someone know the secrets she hid, and not run away at the sight of it. Her face was still flushed, hair unkempt, back still in blistering pain, and a great number of other descriptors that amounted to 'in a sorry state of affairs. She wasn't certain how long she would have him— heart or otherwise— for. But ahead, there was much magic to work, and her heart would have to be strong. And somehow, he had become a part of that. Sonya chose to see that chance as something good.

"Well, there's certainly one thing I can do now." she murmured, brushing a fleeting kiss against the side of his face. "I'll be glad to have you at my side as I grind Jedah'sface into a fine paste, " Though her strength would take time to return, the truth of what she felt was clear enough in the slow smile spreading across her face.

The inn where Celica's soldiers were gathered were in a frenzy when Camus emerged. At least three separate councils or meetings had been hurriedly set, with small clusters of men and women conversing among themselves. The most agitated-looking of them was one where Saber, usually the most easy-going of mercenaries in the Princess' employ, speaking quickly to her band of mages and her brother, the paladin Sir Conrad. Usually cool-headed, he was running about the room like a caged young lion, demanding information and looking as if something particularly valuable to him had vanished.

"What's the matter?" He asked briskly.

"Celica has decided to negotiate with Jedah," Saber explained through gritted teeth. "Alone."

Genny raised a hand, waving energetically to make up for her short stature. "Um, I think she was really upset after figuring out something about the Mother when we visited the Temple!"

"A deal with the devil to free a goddess. Just perfect," muttered the mercenary.

Camus closed his eyes and considered their options. Whatever opportunity they had to get a word otherwise had passed. To move forward, their only option was to descend into whatever depths of hell the god Duma envisioned. For the good of the Princess of his new kingdom, he was prepared to take up the sword and lance without hesitation.

"No griping today from Sir Stick-up-the-Ass," muttered Saber. "I could get used to the new food chain."

"Saber, we need to find Celica," Conrad shook his head, speaking tersely. "I hadn't figured she would do something this rash. She's going to be giving up her soul—!" He almost choked out the last words, his voice thick with worry.

Camus gritted his teeth as he pieced what had happened. Sometime in the weeks where he had worried over his memory and Sonya her past, the Princess had taken it upon herself to revive Mila at whatever cost. The toll, it seemed, had been a higher price than any of them had expected.

"You have time," a voice rang out, and all three men turned their attention to a door that they had assumed would stay closed. "

"Well, you have a little time, but not much." Sonya's face was grim as she emerged, dressed and alert and looking like she hadn't missed a second of the battles, skirmishes and conflicts that lay ahead. "Now, tell me what you know about the last time you think they spoke together. Before and after." Every so often as she spoke, pain flickered across her features in the form of a grimace or a slight wobble in her step.. Camus exchanged a glance with Genny, who moved towards her with healing staff in hand, just in case the wounds reopened.

Information, target, and execution. That was how she had once summed up her way of finding a target. The path in front of them unfurled, step by step.

Going over to her, he helped her over to the large map that lay in front of the small army on a large, flat table. It was a strategy map of Rigel that they had used to plan scouting excursions and map recent skirmishes.

"There," Sonya identified a spot in Rigel's northernmost reaches. "Anyone know where that is?" Her voice regained its usual brassy confidence, but a commander's timbre was in it as well. She was focued, her attention honed to a point as sharp as the blade at her side.

"Duma Tower," Conrad answered, refocusing his attention to their task at hand. "I was told of it by Halcyon, the Sage that trained me. It's the highest holy place for the members of the Faithful"

"Very good. Now, that tower—" Her explanation was punctuated by a soft, nearly inaudible grunt of pain. "You take it, and you sap the strength of the faithful. You don't, and Jedah rallies another day. But it's filled with clerics and Entombed."

"Now Duma Faithful and Entombed, I can take on." Saber nodded. "You sure she's in there?"

"If he's after the ritual I think he is, we need to cut off the source of the spell immediately." Her voice had the authoratative edge of a masterful commander, easily surpassing rookie and journeyman knights that Camus had dealt with in Archanaea. For quite some time, he assumed that Sonya had been content in fighting more or less alone, and happy to stay that way.

But strange circumstances had called for new thinking. That was what it took to survive in a place like Valentia. For a moment, he mused if it would have done him any good in a place like Archanaea. But that was another place, and another war.

Everything that Camus had been mulling over needed to be put on hold, and he realized that Sonya thought the same. They had a Princess to find and the Faithful to face down. As her servant, Camus was determined to see her dream, fleeting as it was, to the end.

"This way lies…madness…" Murmured Sonya, tracing the words carved into the stone of the fortress. The cells in the tower had been empty just like the others as they searched through every inch of the temple, from hchambers to corridors to dungeons. "Wonderful. So I take it Jedah's on the other side" With a flick of her fingers, she sent the small witch-lantern of fire towards the other corners of the room.

Her back almost instinctively sent jolts across the whole of her nervous system as she proceeded, lips pursed and mind still set on finding traces of the man. Clear as day, she recalled precisely that he had called forth her sisters like mindless slaves, all so that he could cower off to feed, bloated and content, on the souls of the people he threw to his god like deranged, desperate prayers.

But there was more to life, in its joys and sorrows, than his cycle of hatred. There was a time where she chased it, incensed but aimless.

Est landed from the top of a spiral staircase, guiding her pegasus by torchlight. She shook her head, but met Sonya's wayward glance with a determined nod. "We'll find her. If there's anything the Whitewings can do, it's track down someone when all hope seems lost. Right?"

"Well, that's a tall order, Est, but yes, we try." Catria shot her sister a wry smile. "For Celica, we'll take to the skies against just about anyone."

"Maybe Sonya can visit us when this is all over," grinned Est. "Oh, I'd bet she'd love seeing the magic academy in—"

"I hear something," As much as Sonya enjoyed it when the young pegasus knight went on her flights of fancy, which was often, the skin prickled at the back of her neck that potent magic lurked at the top of another flight of stairs near them. Others within the army seemed to think so as well, and Camus had already proceeded forward into the chamber that it led to.

Despite everything she knew to be dangerous, her heart was calm. For too long, she had deluded herself in the fact that she was alone in fighting, and always would be. All she really had to do, thought Sonya, was ask.

The altar before them glowed with lamps in shades of purple and crimson. The hunched robed figure before them was alone, save for a familiar girl that lay prone on a large stone slab carved into a table. "Celica!" gasped Conrad. He rushed forward, only to find a fight in several entombed that had crawled out of the shadow, forming a phalanx of guards between them.

" After failing to see the truth once, you've decided to try again," sneered the cantor. Not that much time had passed, but Jedah's eyes looked even more sunken into the bony features of his face. He loomed over them, standing between them and the unconscious Celica. From the distance, Sonya couldn't make out whether or not the spell had taken hold or not.

"I'm back for your head, you rotten scrap of a man." She drew her sword, and faced Jedah down. "No more words."


	12. A Wager Won

A thick curtain of magic stood between her and the man that had taken everything about her. On days that she had felt like she woud never have hope of winning again, Sonya imagined facing down her father and having the upper hand for once in her life.

A small part of her was afraid, not of him or any of the horrid powers he had at his disposal, but what would come after. They would do battle with the god that he served, a being that radiated pure anger and loomed in the furthest reaches of the chamber. Already she heard the sounds of battle as others that served Celica or Alm, Rigel's boy-prince, charged forward. But Jedah was hers. He had been her target when she had started out as a mercenary. He had stayed on her mind when she had recorde her first kill and gotten the coins for it. And he had been on her mind even as she lay wondering if she was going to die from her wounds just days before.

Everything in Sonya's life had prepared her to take her father's.

Magic and blade attacks alike appeared to glance off him as she squared off with him, flanked by a few allies. Whatever warded him had even shrugged off a blow from Gradivus itself without so much as a slight flinch. The sneering grin on his face spread wider as Camus's horse slowed, recovering her balance. The knight himself watched Jedah with an incredulous expression, reading the lance again.

"Archanea's strongest general cannot match the might of Lord Duma!" Jedah cackled, clutching fistfuls of the latest of his volleys of spells. "What hope do you have of overwhelming war itself?!"

Taking a moment to breathe and consider just how the network of spells tahat protected him worked, Sonya latched onto an inkling. Even the strongest of mages had their limits, and despite his skills, the best way to break Jedah's concentration was to attack him until it was thoroughly shaken. She gave a look to the small cluster of men gathered around her.

"Give him all we've got!" snarled Atlas, a villager who had risen quickly through the ranks of the army. He raised his sword and snaked around the cantor with a dread fighter's speed, slashing at Jedah once more. Seizing a chance to strike with momentum, Camus picked Sonya up and charged towards the cantor, striking him again.

This time cracking sound and a shattering noise echoed throughout the chamber as the invisible barrier broke. At once, Sonya leapt off the horse.

She lunged forward, spell and blade at the ready. Her steps were quick and her breath heaved with anticipation for the strike to come.

"How could this be…I was promised…." Jedah fell to his knees with a dull thunk, eyes wide with disbelief as his magical shields crumbled and her blade sliced across him, quick as a flash. The spell hand landed true, as well.

Sonya stepped aside, sheating the sword. "You were promised something? And you didn't get it? How sad."

Her breathing was heavy, and her back screamed with pain old and new. Her clothes were singed with spell-marks and all around her crawled the remnants of monsters and witches that he and the Faithful had thrown at them. But Jedah, as he died, was far smaller than she had ever remembered seeeing him. As his magical power, both human and god-given, faded, he grimaced but struck no fear into her heart.

It was as if a great weight was being lifted out of her by an invisible balloon, and despite everything going to hell in the process, she felt lighter. As she picked herself up and continued deeper into the fortress, she felt Camus give her shoulder a squeeze.

"How does it feel?" He asked.

"I'm tired. And we have a princess to check up on," Sonya replied quietly. "Come on." She was, after all, a consummate professional.

Celica, fortunately, had finally broken free of the Cantor's spell. She sat up on the dais, blurry-eyed and frowning but otherwise unharmed.

"I'm…free?" The Princess gasped. "What happened?" She clutched her head with a groan.

"Get her to safety," Camus called to Boey, a young sage who was firing spells towards monsters nearby. "She's in no shape to be exposed to attacks." With a determined nod, the boy charged forward, looping an arm towards his friend to support her as she struggled to her feet.

"N-no…I have to see Alm…He needs to know how to defeat Duma once and for all…"

"Well, then." Sonya, cheery and in good spirits despite a horrible back ache and the fact that everything ahead of her practically screamed that the apocalpyse was nigh. "You heard her Highness. Let's get her to Alm and settle this so I can go home and crack open the wine I've been saving for this."

The seas were calm on the day that Sonya had decided to take a walk. Zofia had been warmer than expected, and compared to the dreary climates of Rigel, she was already getting used to the smell of salt and the rush of wind. In a kingdom at peace, the lands were hers to travel as she pleased. Reaching over, she scratched the back of a cat that lazily snacked on a fish hed atop a crate of goods ready to be shipped to sea.

"You're a fan of cats? That suits you." Camus' warm chuckle stirred her attention away.

"And what do you mean by that?"

"Personality," was the knight's curt reply.

She glared at him. "Do you really want to tempt fate saying things like that when I could have just left you out to dehydrate?"

"I think it was for better for the both of us that you didn't." His eyes flashed with laughter as he pulled her close, as if he was true north to her wanderer's spirit. Sonya relished his assured solidness as Camus cupped her chin and claimed a slow, satisfying kiss, pressing her against a few crates that were hidden from view of the other people walking along the docks.

"What was it you wanted to tell me?" He asked, as they straightened themselves out a few leisurable moments later.

"Scoundrel," muttered Sonya. "I'm in no place to tell you anything after— well…" She snorted, but a faint blush still crept over her features. " She fished in the pockets of her dress, a more casual and homespun style chosen for comfort rather than looks, and held it up. It was a girl's letter, sealed in wax with pink ribbons with a brilliant white feather wedged between the just-opened seal and the parchment paper.

"It's from that little Whitewing. She's saying that there's trouble in your homeland." Sonya wondered what sort of person would package a letterdescribing a war with bright pink ribbon, but Est was a strange girl, if not one of the most effective soldiers that she had ever met.

Camus' eyes narrowed. "What sort of trouble?"

"A revolt. Someone named King Hardin is being a thorn in Prince Marth's side. Looks messy, Might involve dragons." shrugged Sonya. "Tell me if you've heard that one before." Truth be told, there was nothing particularly funny about the gods' departure from Valentia, her own feelings towards religion be damned. There was an age where people would work the land and face the seasons without expecting their prayers to be answered one after another. It was an age without miracles, and the loss of her sisters, who could only be brought back through something divine, was profoundly felt. As Sonya continued to describe the contents of Est's note, Camus gripped the side of the dock railing more and more tightly.

"Then I must set off." A steely edge crept back into his voice, and Sonya noticed that he stood straighter. "Sonya, I will return to you when—"

"Ah, ah, ah…" She held up a finger. "You weren't invited to anything. I received a request from that little Whitewing girl, and it's one that I intend to honor." Sonya grinned.

Camus cast a deadpan glare that would have set a lesser soul cowering. But he knew better than to think that it would have such an effect on her.

"Alright, alright. Far be it from me to begrudge you the opportunity to visit home, hm?" She adjusted her gloves, and handed the envelope over. "You're going to need to know about what's happened to that kingdom of yours, by the way." She handed the note to him to read in full.

"Looks like we're in for some very exciting times on the horizon."


End file.
